I talked to Christine in New York City last night. It had been almost a year.
That’s me, in my new office, located in a undisclosed Sushi Bar. I have too many enemies, now, coast to coast. But, I have no fear, for I have seen the contents of the Mystery Crate, that allowed me to see the Buddha as an old prankster witch. Life is good for this reporter. I cover the waterfront.
Christine told me she had called Marilyn Reed earlier in the day. She thought this is why I was calling her. She asked about me. She told me she could not reach me, she getting a strange buzz. I realized she did not know I stopped service with that number, because the Green Swastika Guy was being rude. All of a sudden – we are both getting chills!
Then, I tell her why I called. I was looking at the photos Stefan took and sent me in a e-mail. The one above, with Christine in a red coat reminded me of Andrew Wyeth’s masterpiece ‘Christine’s World’. This photo is a masterpiece of balance. I will explain in a future blog. Another photo of Christine and Stefan reminded me of Grant Wood’s ‘American Gothic’. Christine’s father owned a great house on Beacon Hill and was a well known Doctor. That house is in my novel ‘The Gideon Computer’.
Christine and Stefan wanted me to buy this old red brick ruin, that she now tells me was torn down two weeks ago. I am blown away. This is the continuance of ‘The Real Estate Show’. Take note how Sonny Barger critiques Hunter Thompson’s Gonzo Journalism, which I carry on, not as a wanna-be with a sticky postem, but with authenticity.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gonzo_journalism
Christine told me about the mother cat who goes and sits on the rubble of brick, because the bulldozer buried her new litter of kitts. Christine told me of the threat she received from a neighbor that was overheard by the man repairing the beautiful stone wall you see, that was damaged when they brought in the demolition equipment.
“I hope you have fire insurance!”
I told Christine the reason these calls are being made, is, she is in grave danger! She told me she felt Stefan was not offering her enough protection. I told her that protection is on its way. I told her about my un-finished portrait of her and Stefan, where she is within his aura of protection. However, she is being pushed to the edge. I am going to put King Kong climbing the Empire State building, and Lady Liberty, just over the horizon.
Above is my beautiful cat ‘Greyhaven’ who is no more. He died of old age. The last time I saw him was in the arms of a Native American Mother in a wheelchair surrounded by her grandchildren who had jet-black hair. She said;
“This is not a cat! It’s a mountain lion!”
Greyhaven and I are making our rounds. He would fallow behind me as I walked about the apartments I demanded I manage because drug dealers and whores had taken it over. Greyhaven offered me protection. He was a stray who came to me.
One day I saw my neighbor dealing drugs out the back of her garage. When her son came by I told him to tell his mother not to sell drugs. This is Sonny Barger’s son, the President of the Hell’s Angels.
One evening Greyhaven came in the window andl et out a agonizing cry, then lay next to me. Come morning, I put him in a gym bag, and we went off to see the vet on the city bus. He had been kicked real hard. That evening, I sat out of front with a baseball bat.
Christine and I talked about all the phone calls we made where I am on a pay phone surrounded by the scum of the earth. My landlord liked me, and told me they were coming to kill me. He offered to help pack my things and pay for the Greyhound. He had found a new owner for Greyhaven because he knew I would fight to the death for him, my assistant manager. If I had bought that home, that is no more, I would have named it Grey Havens.
Let it be known the Spirit of Greyaven is on the way, and should be arriving, just about…now!
Jon Presco
http://98bowery.com/return-to-the-bowery/abcnorio-the-real-estate-show.php
Rosamond Press 
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