B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

Last night, in rough order: phone call, whiskey, hip-hop; then the long walk home through almost empty streets to dream about running through the city with a huge chorus just offstage roaring through Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecelia." There. There is some sentence structure for you. I see your crude diagrams of proper form and I laugh at them.

It was the sort of night that reminds me why I'm here at all, though that has less to do with the hip-hop show and more with the phone call and the walk. Wandering in a rough diagonal through the lower West Side's boutiques, everything all lit up and still like ice sculpture. Still buzzing off conversation, even more so than what I just saw on stage. Walking along the edges of conversations and fights, of break ups and couples falling into walls and long, slow crying jags slumped over on the sidewalk. Townsend-leaping to the girl closing her shitty coffee shop, screaming some cookie-cutter punk band's lyrics back at them so loud you can make out every word from outside. The sort of night that makes me wonder if the only purpose of living in New York is to pull more people to the city, if these evenings of getting nailed between the eyes are just the city's way of breathing in and out.

posted by chris  # 9:45 AM