In the morning Laura has a little taste of home, in the cold, all snuggly under the duvet. As soon as Mary sees her though she cries, "What yer doin' wi't air-con and't duvet on?! Yer wastin' energy y'know", and she turns the air-con off leaving Laura to sweat like she's in a stuffy apartment in a heat-wave under 5 togs of polyester.
Off to write the blog at Garage Internet. It's part of a series of shops like the Forum in Sheffield and feels how the Forum used to feel in the olden days.
Next we head over to try and find The Statue of Liberty. We get to a museum at Battery Park. A quick scan, search and frisk by the door security. We wee and leave.
HOT DOG off of a street vender.
Wham bam in yer hand. Eight inches of salty goodness, with onions, ketchup and mustard.
A tsunami of tourists devastate Battery Park.
We make our way through unharmed.
"I can see the sea and the sea can see me. We can see the Statue of Liberty"
We decide not to look around the park because in the ferry terminal for Staten Island there must be at least 9 air-conditioners bathing Laura in sweet sweet cold cold air air.
The huge free ferry takes us past Ms. Liberty standing proud in all her glory. We see a misty shoreline of skyscrapers, it's amazing. Cargo ships, tug boats, yachts, sewage works. We go from the swish city to a poorer industrial Staten Island.
We have a saunter from the ferry terminal along the coastline to the interior. It feels like walking through a desert on the sidewalk. The path stretches out forever. No hope of ever finding life again. We have drunk our last drop of water. We'd like to dip our feet in the sea and have a paddle but Mary points out the sewage plant the size of 8 football pitches just over yonder. It takes sewage works the size of Staten Island to deal with all the shit in this city.All that is left is to find the sweet sweet cold cold air air conditioned ferry terminal and go back to Manhattan.
Conscious of our looming gig we decide to have a practice on the ferry on our way back and serenade Ms. Liberty with Bombs, she likes a good anti-war song. Folk are tapping their feet. One woman gets up and leaves, her hearing aid is obviously faulty. As we dock the suited city worker tells us he had the best seat on the ferry today and asks us if we had a CD. Says he's gonna come to the gig. We'll see. We tell him where the gig is, "What Broadway, Brooklyn?! You'll be playing Broadway, Manhattan next year"
We catch the subway to City Hall. We don't need no piece of paper from the City Hall we're just trying to get to Chinatown. There's a protest gathering. They're demonstrating against the cuts in the social budget and withdrawal of monies for social infrastructure by corporations.
We visit a restroom later on, in Starbucks. It was as filthy as the hands of this big corporation. Job done. We leave.
We meet a nice man and discuss the US and UK social policies and disgusting cuts to the welfare stare. They target the poor first, cut their standards of living whilst the multi-million pound corporations get richer. Whilst the rich get richer the poor get poorer. The nice man tells us about an upcoming protest regarding the HIV and AIDS policies. Hopefully we'll see him there.
We eat steamed broccoli, chicken and brown rice. We'll find a better Chinese restaurant next time. We go for a coffee at the Chinese bakery next door. Laura's South Yorkshire parlance proves foxing. After talking e-v-e-r-s-o-s-l-o-w-l-y and repeating and repeating we finally get not what we asked for.
We busk outside the criminal court to a half dead rat, squirrels, and a fella on the next bench until we're rudely interrupted by the insistent Victor from Cambodia/France (both places). He want s to practice his English on us. Why us?! He sets off on the wrong foot asking if Laura is Mary's daughter. We smile and say yes. Mary had her when she was only 7 years old. It's been a hard life.
"Do you MSN? Do you Skype? Can we chat? Can I have your phone number? I leave in 4 days. Can you come to France to visit me?"
"Err NO, sorry Victor."
We are witness to the to-ings and fro-ings of the Criminal Court. It doesn't feel good. 11 story windowless detention centre, police cars, correction centre buses, cops in uniform, cops in plain clothes but we only see one prisoner escorted in handcuffs into the main entrance. We see bail bond shops galore. It's an unfamiliar world.
Right, let's go and find Goodbye Blue Monday and steady the nerves for the gig. We successfully find the street but of course, we head in the opposite direction of said venue. About turn. We walk past the cool Bushwick city farm for the second time. A volunteer led project, so the good folk of Bushwick can stroke bunnies and pet chickens under the train track. Wooo Wooo.
So were here, obviously here, because there's a ring master with a top hat welcoming the good folk. Through he doorway we're hit with soaring temperatures, aluminium gorillas, 50's TV sets, umbrella lanterns and good Belgium beer. We like this place. We hear some good and some bad music. It Rains In My Face and a Pittsburgh trio that had a too intelligent a name for us to remember, something about a belt of stuff around the globe that protects us from things. They are our favourites.
Very drunk and tired. Tried to get on a subway the wrong way. We go the right then head for home on foot the wrong way. Laura's instincts are strong. She should use deodorant. Whatever they say we'll do the opposite from now on.
Games We Have Played Today
- Hat or wig
- Stick or alligator
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