Another Park, Another Sunday

It's cool out but I've had it. My neck and back feel like they’ve been whacked by Lizzy Borden's sturdy axe. I need fresh air. I'm out of here.

Off to the park on the bike, I cycle through the Engineer's Gate at 90^th Street across the street from the Church of the Heavenly Rest, and put my music on ~ first song is  Another Park, Another Sunday by the Doobie Brothers.

.

This song goes through me ~ gives me a rich complex feeling starting deep in my belly. It's sad but melodically beautiful. It's OK the lyrics get me down. It's good to be reminded of loss. Weigh where I am,  how I feel, give me a gauge. Central Park is an ideal location for me to do that. I've burrowed through its 843 acres for thousand of hours. Inside the warren, I've climbed, ran, biked, swam, made out, slept, laughed, played, lost a balloon, made promises, torn muscles, watched people, had sex, cried, sealed friendships, fell in love, got high, felt helpless, got lost, fought, made up, said things to people I love that I can never take back. Central Park is organically connected to all my senses.

I did five loops but cheated, using the 102nd Street transverse to get to the Westside. I rarely do the hill from hell at the north end of the park. I have no problem with the hill, but I don't like the long coast down.

I lost my recklessness nine summers ago, when I took a piece of meat out of my forehead over my left eye, when I fell off my bike going down a hill and waited three hours in Lenox Hill to get stitches. Met Ronny Hanerfeld and his family in the emergency room. Then, Nicky Bowen from 87th Street walked in with his group. Each had a kid that needed medical assistance. We had a reunion. It was 96 degrees outside that Saturday. I had a rag over my eye covering the wound, no shirt on, too bloody, the nurse threw it away. My running shorts crept up the crack of my ass. So, with me just shy of nude, we reminisced.

Another Park, Another Sunday  
(The Doobie Brothers)

As I was sittin' in my room, starin' out my window
And wonder where you've gone
Thinking back on the happy hours
Just before the dawn

Outside the wind is blowin'
It seems to call your name again
Where have you gone?

City streets and lonely highways
I travel down
My car is empty and the radio just seems to
Bring me down

I'm just tryin' to find me
A pretty smile that I can get into
It's true, I'm lost without you

Another lonely park, another Sunday
Why is it life turns out that way?
Just when you think you got a good thing
It seems to slip away

It's warm outside, no clouds are in the sky
But I need myself place to go and hide
I keep it to myself, I don't want nobody else
To see me cryin' all those tears in my eyes

Another lonely park, another Sunday
Why is it life turns out that way?
Just when you think you got a good thing
It seems to slip away, yeah yeah

Another park, another Sunday
It's dark and empty thanks to you
I got to get myself together
But it's hard to do

Another park, another Sunday
Why is it life turns out that way?
Just when you think you got a good thing
It seems to slip away, yeah yeah

Another park, another Sunday
It's dark and empty thanks to you
I got to get myself together
But it's hard to do, yeah


**************************

Our Next "City Stories: Stoops to Nuts" storytelling show is Tuesday, March 13th @ 6pm @ Cornelia Street Cafe.  Our near spring artists are: Claudia Chopek, Joe McGinty, John Newell, Rick Patrick, Thomas Pryor, Ward White & Rivka Widerman. Admission is $7 and that includes a free drink of your choice.

.