November 15, 2012
Took in the faces on Times Square, then realized, with all the meetings and pre-arrangements, how little time I have for incidental adventures. Went to see Peter and the Starcatcher, largely because it’s playing out the back door of the hotel. It’s actually sort of a Christmas panto, raucous and amiable, if a little stupid. Great times at the Rum House afterwards. There was a sort of tag-team of piano players, most of them customers, banging out the best whorehouse piano I have ever heard. A Japanese girl dressed as a farmer danced while they played. The men sitting beside me were Norwegians–they smelled wonderful–and we talked a little about the history of Norway. They told me their names, but after a certain intake of rum, unfamiliar things become unintelligible. Had a further drink in one of the hotel bars, staggered up to bed with no specific memory of how I got here. Now my little puzzle of sky above 47th Street is gray silk, just before dawn.
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