Keep on truckin'.


I've had a bit of a tense week. So today I have been chilling. Came across an interesting clip on Russell Davies blog. Thought it might be nice to share it.

I'm a sucker for anything New York. I must make an effort to return there.

I'll never forget the first trip I made. There was a chap living in a refrigerator box on a traffic island in in front of the Helmsley building. As I walked past he offered me a telephone receiver - do you remember the old kind with the thick, springy cord?- it wasn't attached to phone. It looked as though the dismemberment had occured in a moment of terrible violence. The innard wires dangled like gizzards. "It's for you." he said from inside the thick cardboard box. He had cut the top half open so the flap could be shut. It was October and beginning to feel quite brisk. A searing wind swept down the avenue in the canyon of tall buildings. I noticed that it was a tight squeeze for the occupant with a heavy greatcoat covering what looked like many layers of clothes - none of them fashionable in spite of his tony address. I wasn't sure what the protocol was for dealing with crazy street people, so I gave him money. What do you do when confronted with a big black guy in fridge box, his red rimmed, bloodshot eyes glaring from beneath a peaked Korean War G.I. cap with ear flaps, seeing who knows what? I offered him money, could have been a buck, could have been a hundred - greenbacks all looked the same to me, used as I was to the colour coded Kiwi currency. He spoke into the receiver "He'll call you back..." and addressed me "Thank you man" "No worries" I replied and kept on truckin'.
When I made my return voyage to my hotel Mr Ed had vanished and his home was nowhere to be seen.

The experience just surreal enough to have me wonder if it had happened at all.

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