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It was an Amtrak security guard that had snatched Jay. We all get on the train and he escorts us to the very front car. On the way we get glared at by all the yuppies that are on the train so of course we make smartass remarks to them.
"What are you guys doing? Donít you know that you canget killed doing stupid stunts like this?" says the guard.
"Actually you can get killed just by sitting in front ofyour TV if your ceiling decides to fall on your head", says Jay.
"Yeah, very funny. Seriously what are you guys doing?"
I say, "We wanted to go to New York but donít have any money. So we figured we should just walk it."
"Well then why didnít you just walk over the GWB?"
"Too far."
"Everyone has to tell me your names and then weíll get off in Newark, OK?" says the guard.
So he writes down all our names except mine since I lie and say I was Tracy Marrow. Thatís Ice-Tís real name. We then get to the Newark Amtrak Station and the guard gets off and escorts us up to the Path trains and asks a cop if it would be okay for us to hop after he explains our situation. The cop goes for it, so we hop and go over to New York City.
We go to Washington Square Park and Alex buys more weed so we then walk up to Tompkins Square Park and smoke there since there are generally less cops up there.

We smoke a few joints and then get bored and decide to go back to Joizey. My apartment is first from Journal Square and so I go home since I am supposed to go to work in the morning. As soon as I get in my bed I pass out.

My alarm clock blares at me at 6:30 in the morning so I turn it off but then my TV comes on with Willard Scott showing some century old prune to me. I again wish I didnít set my TV to turn on, but I know that without it I have no chance of ever getting up on time. I go take a shower and come back to my room to get dressed for my job at a pharmacy stocking shelves.
As I am putting on my socks, a report comes on about the Mardi Gras in New Orleans coming up in February. I think about how much fun that would be and then I think about how much I hate my jobs. Iím about to have to find another place anyway because my roommate and I were arguing a lot, so I decide, "Fuck it." and pack up my backpack which I got from getting cancer miles from Marlboro. All I pack is a sleeping bag, a jacket, four changes of clothes, three books, (a Stephen King, a William Gibson and a Dave Barry) and about ten metal, punk and rap cassettes and my radio.
 I call the library and my supervisor answers.
"Union City Library, how may I help you?" she says.
"Diane, itís Peace. Iím not going to make it in today." I say.


<Hitchin USA / Poetry ©  P.L.A.H. Enterprises