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.
