a colorado connection

(what next?)

amy is a fire cracker. and brilliant in almost every way. a cute face and a tight body with a mind that will just clown you. she drops jaws. i met her when i was 19 or 20, i moved into a place with her and this british chick named jill. a fat victorian flat. 3 stories up, over looking the city. we could see the fog roll in from the giddy up. amy was in college and her brain was on fire with the world and the country the city and our friends and her cute club outfits and boys. we got along famously. it was instant. she eventually left for south america, and then ended up back east where she went to Brown and got her masters and met her husband and got married and now works at a prison teaching English to drug dealers.

her husbands name is josh. he a good looking, incredibly smart, funny and warm, architect. he truly deserves her.

i met amys father somewhere along the line. he is a powerful story in his self. back when everything jazz was it he stood smack dab in the middle. well, i guess i should say he leaned smack dab in the middle. he played the stand up and shot heroin. he lived it for a bit. died it for another. he met his wife jane [i think thats her name. awesome lady. nurse.] and cleaned up. went to college at 30, got his masters eventually, and started the Delancy Street Project for ex cons in Boston. when he retired, he went to art school in London, with his now retired wife. he stayed there for a year, smoking pot and talking jazz with his peers, now 40 years his junior. this is where he met Enver.

Enver is a British bloke that stayed at my house for a night last fall. it was a favor for amys dad, Joe. he asked if his friend from art school could crash at the palace for a night while he stopped in new york. no worries joe, no worries. so Enver shows up and we click instantaneously. he is smart, and funny. and up for a get down and merges into conversations with ease. we hung out with some friends i didnt know that well at a bar i had never been to in a neighborhood i rarely visited. this only for a while, then we go to one of these newfound acquaintances Soho apartment where we drink more and fill in the blanks for each other and ol charlie rolls through for a wee blast and even more merging. we puff tough on Envers new england stuff then head back to brooklyn, three strangers in tow, to conclude the night in my hood. the evening stayed polite and we cap it off with a xanax stopper. the next morning he was gone and the memories are stellar.

so the drum clinic calls me and tells me that they need someone overseas to send them a package. i guess this chemical ingredient they so desperately need is only found in the netherlands and the company that produces it refuses to ship it to the mainland. what they need is someone on the right side of the sea to get this ingredient mailed to them, so they can then mail it to the drum clinic.

now here is the kicker, i called the drum clinic a few days ago [i was in dire need of some drums] and they mentioned that they had a laptop. and they also mentioned that they would happily part with this laptop for free. well you can imagine my orgasmic reception to this life affirming news. i so badly need a laptop my eyeballs are bleeding. but nothing realy comes for "free." or so at least thats how the saying goes, and it just so happens that that particular saying applies well here. now, they know that i need something, and they need something in return. so they ask, - know anyone overseas?

why yes. yes i do.

its like Denver, but without the D.

(this has been a simple meditation.)