New York… is it me?

There’s an old guy sitting on his walking frame, no not next to me and no he’s not making love to a tonic and gin, although to be honest I can’t speak to what’s in his flask, anyway he’s sitting on the Arthur W Stickland triangle and he’s feeding the pigeons. Looks like he could use a decent meal himself. Wonder what Art did to get himself a garden triangle? The cafe I’m in is playing 1920’s jazz, and the living is easy… sorry I may run out of lyric puns eventually, or maybe not. I’m sitting here with an Argentinian Malbec watching the world go by, waiting for my soul to find me. She’s lost between the moon and New York city, I know it’s crazy, but it’s true. Oh god I’m tragic.