The Mermaid Parade was last weekend at Coney Island. It was pretty
bananas.

We got a cat baby. It’s all scraped up and sticks to things like velcro. But rather than naming it Scrapie Doo or Velco, it’s called Jasper.

Kelsey again. She’s pretty photogenic but don’t call her goth.

Studio B.

This is Cholo and he was living right by Mama’s in the East Village. For some reason, unintelligible to me, he was ousted from the basement apartment he rented for free. With nothing else to do, he moved all his belongings onto the sidewalk. Just behind him is his home and across the street is is office. Everything was continually rummaged through until one day we didn’t see Cholo and the neighbors thought he was dead. We found out later that he was in jail and all his things were thrown in a garbage truck. Hard luck.

I went to 538 last weekend. They’re close over there.

Charles broke his board this try for a hallway tre.

Samantha and Maria got married and celebrated with Miller Lite.

Dan Cain’s band Dear Tonight played. But I missed them. Next time, fellas.

Samuel, TYJK and Maricua bringing down the house.

These are 538 stragglers.

I think this kid’s name was Jake but he was even harder to understand than Cholo. He was riding his bike wasted and hit a pothole. The only thing he’s eaten in three weeks has been grits and soup. I think the busted tooth makes it easier to get thicker liquids down.

On the weekend we rode out to Roosevelt Island, a sliver of land between Queens and Manhattan. But the Roosevelt Island Bridge claimed both Francis and I as casualities.

Roosevelt Island used to be called Welfare Island and is home to a large population of paraplegics and amputees, including Jose on the right. Jose, who I also couldn’t understand so well (is there something wrong with my hearing?), used to drink too much and somehow got gangrene. Now he hangs out in the sun on his stretcher where he can fall asleep anytime and always wears a smile.

At the southern tip of Roosevelt Island is an abandoned castle turned hospital. We were there for an acoustic show that Todd P puts on, but this was far more interesting.

It’s falling apart but in that charming way.

This was the first time I really hung out with Brett Land. He’s a good vibe.

Fifteen foot trees grow where patients used to sleep.

Just throw a sheet on it and you’re good.

The life of an explorer.

These are pollo flavored peeps.

Such a good idea.

Don’t you just want a janky cruiser?

The show. Not as good right?

These wacky drummer kids did a call and response thing that included throwing drumsticks at each other.

This is why you bring Brett Land everywhere you go.

And Charles is not one to be outdone.

We went to McCarren for the rest of the evening. The band played the soundtrack to the kickball games including a Biz Markie cover.

Brett Nelson has some hippy blood. Check out those moves.

Hotfoot.

Danilo lives here now. I live a more inspired life these days.

Francis too this. I’m guessing he was trying to use the light of the cellphone to autofocus the camera.

This is so sweet that I’m getting acid reflux.

Ended up on a roof in DUMBO.

Manhattan Bridge. No Golden Gate but not bad.

This just happened. I wish I had the story for you but all I saw was two firetrucks rush to the building across the street from mine. A fireman quickly climbed a ladder to the roof and they packed up everything and left. No smoke, no victims, no cats in a tree. NYFD dry humping.