New York City (Supplemental)

By the grace of God, he Amtrak reject equipment I was on stayed stable on it's NJTransit line, placing me somewhere in the tunnel dungeons beneath Penn Station. I emerged to the daylight, heat, noise, and carbon monoxide near the Borders' Bookstore at Madison Square Garden. The foldout map of the island in hand, I began the 40 block epic journey to the place I now sit: A bench dedicated to "Chuck and Christina Micheals" on the outskirts of the tree museum known as Central Park. Even as the latino bag lady sleeps on the bench over from me, the pidgeons and sparrows come by asking for food, and the more easy-going BoHo couples hold hands and stroll (there are only 2 kinds of young hip rich people here: Paris Hilton wannabes and arty bohemian hipster wannabes...oh, and well dressed gay dudes), I can still hear the Honking of the Yellow NYC taxi cabs.

Well fuck, it's raining now. And I really wanted to go see the Pit of Abbadon and check for thermite residue. Guess it's back to the trains.