The 8 shots of expresso, that I drank in Williamsburg, last night, did not keep me from sleeping, but i am WIDE awake, here in New Jersey, this morning at 8:52 a.m. I hear the pitter patter of little feet running about above me. This is such an electrifying sound, so unlike the depressing sound, back home, of dogs gone wild on the hardwood floor above me!! I might spend Saturday night at the Chelsea Hotel. Wouldn't that be great. It has such a rich history of great authors having lived and written there. I might not crank out a novel in one night, but I bet that I will get a poem or two of interest. I'm going to see if I can stay in the room where Syd Vicious killed Nancy Spungen. Wouldn't that be weird? It might be very creepy and scary. I wonder if they charge more for that room, or if they even advertise it or tell you which one it is. Dylan Thomas stayed there for a bit; so did(gosh just read this article by Cathleen Miller, to get the lowdown http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/travel/index/stories/miller01241999.htm.

Anyway, Kennedy and coffee are calling. I'm getting up off the futon, heading up out of the basement and into the Miller's kitche. What a glorious day to be alive. God bless all of you.