Thomson Ave. is silenced during the morning of Black Friday—only the constant row of cars over Queens Plaza Yards offer any escape and life.
The walking streets by the 7 train are bare; the new skyscrapers shine by the 9 o’clock sun.
I’m the only one at work on time
in Long Island City. No money makes me save like a hoarding dragon—no-go into the stores today.
Must earn my keep after the big family meal; fighting after-effects of wine and sleepiness—must work with silence—
but I love silence. That’s when the ideas come.