after skipping out of McSorley’s at closing time, arm in arm with two good friends, singing Whisky in the Jar at the top of our lungs, the rest of the gang caught up to us near Tompkins Square Park. i was propped up on a bar’s patio, while two other renegades downed forties from a brown paper bag as they camped out on the adjacent porch. we were hollering Tom Waits and the sleeping boy in the back, holding down our table and ordering more beers, when we heard the yell.
a lunatic thin man ran down the street with a suitcase above his head, screaming his ancient barbarian warcry. before slamming full speed into the SUV in front of us his body halted, and his arms waled the suitcase into the car’s side. he picked up his load and smashed it again and again, then the suitcase was on the ground and he was off around the corner squealing with glee.
i moseyed over to investigate – no damage but a scene far more perilous: a spiderman-clad rickshaw driver (walker?, pusher?) was pulling two chortling girls as replacements for our mysterious warrior. as i approached, he let them down and became enamored with the suitcasewielding soldier story.
meanwhile one of the girls took his place and was carriaging her friend away. i guess he saw tips and i saw two women, as we rushed over the pusher saw divine promise in suddenly letting go of her charge and having her friend’s skull hurtle back towards earth. now the rickshaw was kinda open in the back and her head almost splattered into the concrete – an inch and a bit of cushion saved her – but this peril was no peril to these two – up and onwards and then whipping back down to the street in another near collision. i argued but why should they care? back i went to the bar, and off the girls went like Didi and Gogo (or maybe more like two variants of Lucky with our Spiderman enshrined Pozzo pretending to direct them).
what horrors or heavens launched these folks down our tiny street, and would the evening’s descent into morning finally evaporate my midnight eidolons?