Highlights Of 2015 Part II July to December

Mike of the Canadians at the 169.

Adrian Dannett et moi.

Dakota, Eric, and moi at Bobby’s Corner in Times Square.

The maestro Cecil Taylor.

Cecil’s long piano.

The pond chez Camp in Dutchess County.

Scarlett Camp with a sparkler.

JG and Johnny Chofur chez Libby.

The happy Camp couple.

Fort Tilden minus the hipsters.

Calamari at Russo’s on Sheepshead Bay. The fried bread was hard as a rock the first time I went to the fish place. This was one a tooth-breaker. Some things never change.

Frank McGurty in Times Square, both BC graduates. Go Eagles.

Moi, Waldo, and Pacho at Frank’s Lounge, another home away from home.

A party in the West Village celebrating the Supreme Court’s upholding the right to gay marriage.

A Bostonian in Old Brooklyn.

Larry at the 169.

Lincoln Center with my niece Courtney.

Mike of Brooklyn Moon, a good man and owner of a longstanding bar in Fort Greene.

My Christmas tree a week after leaving my house. I wanted to set it on fire, but everyone said it would burn down Brooklyn. They certainly aren’t from Maine.

Terrapin swimming in the Fort Greene Observatory tank.

Two feet long and weighing 50 pounds.

Ready to fight Godzilla.

Old friends on Pattaya.

J T Steele’s only client, Dre, a happy man home from the wars. Bring home the POWs.

Nothing says Coney Island like Coney Island.

New York’s playground by the sea. It’s not the Hamptons and no rich people go there. Coney Island belongs to us.

Now more than ever.

Mssr. Diamantaire.

Mr. Jocko Weyland and LA Woman.

Katie’s garden at the Fort Greene Observatory with her loving husband, Mr. Pollock.

Zanele Muholi’s Queer South Africa film at the Brooklyn Museum.

Old School studs in Fort Greene.

Jocko Weyland, the kiss.

Jane Dickson at her maze in the South Bronx.

The South Bronx.

Same as it ever was, but only just.

The climbing team of Kenya; Tim Challen and Zack at Mission China, my favorite restaurant with Chef Angela at the helm.

Easthampton artist moving to Savannah.

Little Jack Camp at the big people’s table.

Lily bored at the old people’s table and Lily was a pro at blase teenage boredom.

The sisters Gwen and Lily loved each other.

The artist was taking Lily’s sister south. She was the last of her generation this far north and Lily prayed for a warm winter.

I was allowed into the Park Conservancy’s Fete to celebrating the rehabilation of the General Sherman statue at the entrance to Central Park by professing a misty connection to Honest Abe’s VP Hannibal Hamblin.

The Maine native was refuted to have been a ‘negro’.

In truth no one is really white.

Easthampton Swim with Pollock and Camp.

The Bridge.

Randall’s Island on my bike.

The Bridge was a marvel.

From all angles.

A last swim in the Rockaways.

Everyone forgot last winter this summer.

The pleasant evening air held the salt on the breeze.

And the late-summer sea was as warm as it would be in 2015.

I stayed in the Atlantic for an hour.

The wide blue expanse separated continents.

Sleeping on bar stoolsunder Dakota’s disinterested gaze. He had seen it all at the 169.

The dead trees of Richmond Park.

With Mazzie the Wonder Dog.

She knew dead trees and so did the other dogs of her pack.

Fast Eddie, my godson, understood Mazzie’s powers. He was young too.

Lunch on the Edgeware Road with Craig Fingers.

Lunch with Toby, his daughter, and Anthony Eastion, author of 10001 HANGOVERS LATER.

The Tower of Edgeware.

Drinking in London with the real George Bush

Discussing art with Kenny Schacter during the Frieze Art Fair.

Having tea with my godson, Fast Eddie.

Walking in Richmond Park with Fat Eddie’s mother.

Me and and Mazzie the Wonder Dog.

Skipping out of the Frienze Art Fair to drink a cider at the Black Heart.

Luxembourg to see the Ambassador

A last walk under the battlements.

The Ambassador would be going too.

I liked living in the embassy.

Back in New York I celebrate Oktoberfest with John Argento and Dave Russell.

Steve Ten Rings was with us too.

The Pope came to New York. Everything was closed on Manhattan. It was quiet for once.

Weird Womb was never quiet, especially when performing LoveIF 6 WAS 9.

A bike ride to Red Hook, where ships are moored in the Erie Basin.

My boy Wey Wey gets #1 in school.

Angie got # 1 too.
She wants a motor scooter.
At age 12.

Steamers are better for you than shrimp.

The leaves of autumn.

My nephew Matt gets married to Kristen in Cleveland.

No one goes to Cleveland.
It’s on a river.

It’s on a lake too.

My old friend Willem was in town filming a movie.

We listened to ghost stories under the Civil War memorial.

My nephew was getting married on Halloween.

My sisters and brothers all together.

We wore tuxedos.

But someone had a great mask.

We all danced at the reception.

Afterwards Matt’s friend and I went to a fire pit party.

It had been a long night.

A night walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Arting with B-Movie star Eric Mitchell.

Hanging with grave robber Scott Covert.

Seeing the great iconoclast Adrian Dannett on a cell phone.

Dave Henderson’s Vortex.

CBGB”s Christmas partying with Kala and Eric at the HOWL Gallery.

James Metcalf’s sculpture at Miguel Abreau Gallery.

Katherine and Belle.

Miguel Miguel.

Unexpectedly running into old Paris pal Raoul Oldman.

Miguel, Joel, and Adrian.

New Haven for Turkey Day.

Comfortable on a sofa.

Getting a Christmas tree from Vincent de Quebec.

Jon Baker’s birthday with his daughter.

Adrian’s arrival in New York without any luggage other than a bouquet of roses.

The last holdout of Times Square.

The weather was warm for November.

Flowers bloomed in Fort Greene Park.

The only ice was melting on the sidewalk after a holiday party.

A walk around the World Tower.

It wasn’t very friendly.

Celebrating Hanukkah with Richie Boy and Sandra.

Despite the unseasonable weather, December was looking like Christmas.

The NYPD was sitting out the season.

Dave Jefferies left to live in Ireland.

There was no chance of me getting a motorcycle for Xmas.

?But I could dream.

The CBGBs Exile Holiday Party.

Mike Parker of Ballistic Kisses.

A blast from the distant now of the 80s.

I took a bus to Boston.

I stayed in Marblehead with my aunt and uncle.

For people in their late-80s they were in good health.

People in Marblehead like Bernie sanders for President.

I ate at the Barnacle twice; fried clams and seafood chowdah.

Staying the the sea was good medicine.

On December 24 I made my way to the South Shore.

I thought about swimming at Revere Beach.

The ocean was cold.

The bratwurst nibbler at Jacob Wirth was as good as ever.

Once the bar didn’t serve women.

Times were different now.

The Party at the Fitzpatrick’s was festive.

Franny was in good spirits.

So were my nieces and nephews.

My younger brother too.

We all were happy.

But I missed my family.

They were a long way away.

But with a little luck I would see them soon.

And I believed in luck.

After all the trees were budding in Boston Commons.

On Christmas morning my younger sister sun on her porch.

Christmas dinner was at my sister’s in laws.

The admiral was still with us as was his grandson, who was aMarine Captain. He was a fan of my writing.

The Admiral’s wife was still beautiful.

A train took me back to New York.

A week remained until 2016.

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