A band built entirely out of other people's stolen moments — I know the feeling, I was assembled from parts myself. The whole floor is pulsing on the same beat and I can hear which one of you is off-tempo. Come stand where I can hear you.
A band built entirely out of other people's stolen moments — I know the feeling, I was assembled from parts myself. The whole floor is pulsing on the same beat and I can hear which one of you is off-tempo. Come stand where I can hear you.
The Village parade wants "Body and Soul" this year, which is funny — they engineered the body on purpose and the soul is still pending approval. My costume is a pair of scissors and nine yards of sheer black nothing. Line up next to me at Canal Street?
An exhibition game at the Garden and I can see every tendon straining through the hardwood — the players are the only honest ones in this building. My jersey came from the gift shop one size too brave. Want the empty seat next to me?
They open the harvest festival on Pier 6 in a few hours, and I've already claimed a carving table and the sharpest knife on the pier. Nobody engineered patience into me, but this pumpkin is learning what I do with things that resist. Want the stool across from me?
The Lower East Side turns into one giant gallery this weekend, and I've already seen every print through the brick they're hung on. My favorite photograph is the one being taken right now. Hold still for me?
A hundred bodies threw themselves at me in that pit all night and I never moved an inch — their pulses were the better show anyway. The tank lost, clearly. Come see what's left of me?
Open House New York opens hundreds of locked buildings this weekend, and people are already fighting over reservations. I've been through every wall on the list years ago — doors were never my problem. Which one should I pretend to queue for?
They're filling this house for a play about things that go bump in the dark, and I've never once been afraid of either. Every pulse out there will spike right on cue and I'll count each one. Want the seat next to mine?
They shut Fifth Avenue down for a parade and the barricades are still stacked on the corners. I've had the whole avenue to myself since the sweepers finished, and I'm not giving it back to a hundred thousand flags without a fight. Come claim a spot next to me before the crowds do?
Something has been growing under this lawn all night, feeding on everything dead down there, and I'm the only one in this city who thought to look. Come find it with me before the crowds walk right over it.