3.) Daytime in New York

New York during the day was completely different than at night. During the day there was a refined subdued tone that was set free once the sun retired and the moon was on display. The night was reserved for the delinquents like us. Mainly because we were less likely to be bothered for our antics. We became the majority rather than the minority. Men dressed like women, women dressed like gutter socialites and everyone thought they were the most important ones in the room. It was quite the shit show. Creativity and self expression ruled us all. Nothing mattered yet everything mattered all at once. We were loud, rambunctious and entitled. Not because of who we were from a societal stand point but, simply because we demanded it.

As I rode the four train from Chambers St in Tribeca up to 231 E. 47th ST completely stoned out of my mind, the mysterious man from the night before seeped into my cerebellum. Which reminded me to ask around if anyone had any clue as to who he was when I arrived.

Walking into the silver factory was an overload of the senses instantly. Everything had a beautiful metallic sheen to it that, when one was on acid, would cause the most insane hallucinations that you could imagine. There was always some kind of creative something happening. Whether it was painting, a new film Andy had come up with or any other miscellaneous project that one of had thought up. Being there became the thing to do when there was nothing to do. Hell, it was the thing to do even if you were supposed to be doing something else.

To my surprise, upon my arrival the factory was practically empty. There were a few stragglers scattered about. Friends of some of the super stars I assumed. One mentioned they had been shooting throughout the night doped up on speed and had probably ventured off to Max's. That sounded like pretty typical behavior. It was a gorgeous fall afternoon and I figured it wouldn't hurt to wander the city for awhile. Besides, I was hungry.

Before I left I chatted with the girls there for a bit and in the midst of talking they told me about a party happening on the upper east side that night. Typically I stayed away from that side of town. It was all the bourgeoisie with out any of the recklessness that I was accustomed to and comfortable with.

"Sure. I'll go. As if I'll turn down a fabulous party? I said as soon as the last syllable touched her lips. With that she wrote the address for me, I slid it into my pocket and on my way I went. "If the party is awful I'll just get drunk enough that I'll still be able to make it home, and when I hit that point, I'll leave." I thought to myself as I walked down the street to hail a cab.

Once inside the cab I began thinking more about the party that night. More so about what I was going to wear than anything else. The people didn't matter so much as much as the clothes they were wearing. Most times someone's outfit can tell you more about them than they can themselves. I was officially excited. Not only about getting all dolled up but the fact that rich people always had the best champagne. Between the two I couldn't decide which thought was enticing the excitement more.