kerouac says

blossom dearie is still singing, and she's still playing her own piano. i got to talk to her last night after listening to a couple sets in danny's skylight room. the monkey and i had two manhattans a piece, and only had to send one back because it had a fly in it. it was a perfect, perfect evening, from the giant fruit fly to the dress-up dress to the faces the side-men wore to the surrey with the fringe on top. before we left the apartment, the monkey danced me around the living room with his mouth pressed against my temple. he'd just brushed, and i told him he smelled like a mint julep. he told me i smelled like the love of his life.

this is all not even counting the fact that we went to the mermaid parade on saturday, which was sort of perfectly new york and what i miss about home, altogether. it was like seattle's solstice parade during my hometown's lakefair except also with shoot the freak and nathan's famous and a lot more garbage. i baked myself on the beach with some number-one-for-good-fun people and there was even a robot.

i may be coming out of the thicket i've been in. maybe less worry is on the horizon. just maybe.