Der Berggeist

Beyoncé porte Givenchy

NYC

moi et mon verre de vin

This is how it's supposed to be
rue de bac.
un espresso s'il vous plait
toutes les femmes et hommes sont tres chic
les chaussures, les manteaux
everything is chosen and worn correctly
les chiens sont matched to their parents
I was laughing across pont alexandre iii a cote de le grand palais
but I've yet pour prend une photo de le tour eiffel
parc que its expected.
And shouldn't I be doing the unexpected?
Doesn't it get enough attention already?
Besides, a single carved porte de bois outshines its glory quickly.
I'm glad I made the journey.
I've wanted to for some time, and finally, this is my everyday.

PETRIFIED ALLIGATOR HEADS

I miss 355.

The long street walk, past hotels, food vendors and Hunk-O-Mania

A homeless man, passed out on the unforgiving concrete, liquor dripping from his open mouth

Keep walking, you're almost there. The only place to be.

“Top buzzer”

The friendly smell of 888, Marlboros and an undertone of BO wafts over. Yes, I'm back. Finally.

Small conversation,

“How was your night?”

“It was fine, and your's?”

“Oh, you know.”

A smile.

A new smell arises. Someone's cooking. Eggs, toast, coffee. Someone I know.

Todays instructions:

Unpack

Organize

Build

Challenge

Create,

Inspire.

I quickly get to work without questions. Cutting, fixing, placing, sorting.

The staircase from downstairs makes a patting sound. Step, step, step.

Up she comes, food in hand for the artist. Eat, Papa eat!

Another scent. Black orchid.

She looks at me. Smiles. “Hi.”

Her keyboard begins clicking thorough writings and emails.

A bird begins to make a ruckus.

Complain, squawk, complain some more, squawk.

Everyone rolls their eyes and continues with their tasks.

Music entrances, beating through its electronic feet.

Sometimes even Nicki shows up.

More tasks.

Stitching.

Patterning.

Pressing.

A collection.

This is going to be amazing. It has to be. It is.

The end of the day is near, I'm very tired.

Boss looks at me and says “Well boss, had enough?”

I nod. Lying.

See you later to the artist.

À bientôt to the writer.

Goodbye to the bird.

I leave 355.