10-9 · Oct 10, 10:26 AM

Tuesday

As I walked home from the subway I got that feeling that I had a letter in my mailbox. I got that feeling the first time about nine years ago when I was a freshman in college. My only consistent pen pal at the time, and current pen pal, Craig, had a letter waiting for me on one of those days when I was really lonely and needing something that I didn’t have within myself. Letters can save your day. I have two friends who I write letters to once a week, when I’m in good shape. Sometimes I fall off but usually it’s one a week. Now I can kind of calculate when a letter will be on its way but I don’t think about it, so it’s still sort of a surprise. I got home to a New Yorker, a conEdison bill and a letter from Scott. The letter ruled. I read it, brushed my teeth, did 30 diamond push ups, listened to the new UGK record and did some writing, then met Dave at Orchard and Houston.

We ate burritos at El Sombraro. Before dinner though I stopped by September Wines, across the street at Ludlow and Stanton, to say hello to my former boss Steve. He and his wife Shelly and my friend Eva run the place. If you need a bottle of nice ELKE pinot noir, that’s the spot.
Dave had a beef burrito and I had a broccoli, cauliflower and bean burrito and we had beers and tequila shots. I’ve known Dave since I was 12. And, I know I’m prefacing my prefaces with a preface like Kevin Neland, but I’ve known Dave for a while. He’s in the band Stepwell. Go to his myspace page and listen to “Runts and Losers,” if you’ve got a second. That and a couple other songs are permanently stuck in my head. A few months ago I met Fat Joe at a poker tournament and I told him that I’m doing okay these days but when I first moved to New York I was really struggling and I used to run up the subway steps every day and scream (because his song was permanently stuck in my head), “Why do I end up in so much shit? I done came way too far to be callin’ it quits. Jake wanna lock me up even though I’m legit. They can’t stand to see a young brother pockets get thick.”
Fat Joe pushed me with the biggest smile on his face and says, “Aiyyo, enough’s enough, federals try to set me up, put me in cuffs and crush what I lust into dust, plus, they want a nigga sewed, but they know Big Joey Crack’ll never rat a cat that he know, fo’ sho’.”
I sold two subscriptions to Young Philosopher that evening.
When Dave and I left El Sombraro, we found a pile of magazines in the trash and the first one I pick up has a Puma ad with Scott in it.

Seeing that ad of Scott made me think about when he was in NYC shooting and filming all these ads. It was windy and cold and snowy but I wanted to see a girl who worked next door to the bagel shop on 6th ave. and 12th street. We took an extra long, painful walk and she wasn’t even working that day. I would get to know her in the future but that relationship ended and we didn’t talk. I finally found out that she left the city. (She lived in Marcel Duchamp’s old apartment on 14th street). Every time I got within a 10 block radius of the apt. I got so nervous. Nietzsche’s idea that we must act in a way such that we anticipate the eternal re-occurance of that action would hit me because every time I got near 14th and 7th ave, no matter what time, I felt like it was the same moment over and over, spanning lifetimes.

Dave and I walked to 11th St. and Greenwich St. and drank Fernet at the Spotted Pig. U2’s accountant, Trevor was eating, so was John Kerry’s daughter. Everyone was smiling. I got to speak all the Japanese I know to a woman then I took a cab home because it was raining and last time my camera got wet it broke and I had to write too serious of a letter to Canon to get a new one to want to do it again.

Hey, did you watch my video of Keyana dancing on 125th Street? I just realized it was her when I picked up the new issue of Trace with her on the cover, but I shot the video two years ago. Look on the left side of this page and click on youTube and watch her dance.

— Albin

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