The streets around Times Square were filled with three-card monte guys and dealers selling nickel bags and loose joints and pills. There were women who seemed to be prostitutes and there were transvestites who I knew were prostitutes. Jamaicans clanging on steel drums, jumpy hustlers hocking watches out of briefcases, sleepy-looking guys snapping flyers, or just weirdos asking for the time of day. There’s always someone walking around talking to himself or yelling at the air. I think the crazies intentionally put on a show so people will identify them as crazy. It’s big business in New York City.

At home Haim was sprawled on the couch watching Little House on the Prairie—I’m sure he thinks this makes him more of an American. The apartment was rank with perfume and hairspray. Dagmara was in the bathroom powdering her body parts in preparation for a date. She posed before the mirror perfecting her eyebrows (she plucks her eyebrows off and replaces them with a thin black line). While Dag works on her face she leaves a lit cigarette on the edge of the sink. Her concentration is total. I wonder what she’s thinking about? Getting a husband? Blowing me? I said hi and she said hi and that was it. Now she acts like she never touched me. I told her she looked nice and she smiled a tight smile. Basically, she lives in the bathroom.

I rode the elevator up to the roof and smoked a cigarette. When I came back down (to write this), Dagmara was gone. Haim and I had a conversation about life. I said it bothered me to see the winos and junkies lying around on the sidewalks. What I meant was it doesn’t bother me to see them and the fact that it doesn’t is what bothers me. Haim got all Talmudic and stroked his beard and said that all humans form themselves into tribes and it’s natural that I shouldn’t concern myself with anyone who isn’t from my tribe. When he said this I realized that Haim considers the two of us to be from the same tribe. Deep down, I don’t think of myself as a Jew, the way Haim thinks of himself as a Jew. I think of myself as a suburban American kid (trapped in a Jew’s body). Fucked up.

I asked Haim if he wanted to smoke some grass and he said the Arabs smoke hashish back in Tel Aviv, it’s not something he does very often. After about three tokes Haim started giggling like a little kid. Then he went on and on about how beautiful Dagmara is, what unbelievable tits she has, how he wants to suck on them, how he wants to fuck her cleavage, have her sit on his dick, how he’s going to cum on her tits, etc. Obviously he’s clueless about what happened between her and me. And clearly she’s not fucking him. Which is just as well.

Work tomorrow.

January 20, 2006