the night is still young and i still sober though i dont mean to suggest it is always this way…
usually the night is older than a grandpa and quite as deaf though those are the nights i find myself stumbling home at some obscene hour singing NEW YORK NEW YORK and not remembering how it ended and therefore having to keep singing it over and over in that "im so drunk i sing like sinatra" deafening wrist cutting razor sound
i would then proceed, obviously having not made it any further than the next bar, to tell the bar tender, in a rather drunken state himself, how sexy i would be if i had a cigarette holder like audrey hepburn and he’d say in reply that i was sexy already and id inform him that that was the best way to lose customers so he’d bite the end of his pen... ok both ends... and supply me with rollies faster than i could smoke them... and no... i am not a smoker in sobriety but when im audrey... well...
I think it's a great start to an even potentially better story telling. You've left me wanting to know more about our bar hopper and even more about how she found herself in Budapest.
She should had gone to Casablanca's Ricky's Bar, I heard that Bogard made some ganja that get Sam, the piano player, keep going like a zombie.
Bottoms up!!!!!!!
Georg
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on August 30, 2007
Interesting format . . . Kinda like it . . . I loved New York when I lived there . . . Flushing and Lynbrook, L.I.
So many reasons to Sinatra through that tune -Here we find another with a global reach & clips for viewing - {pre-cinema} All love good * Ted
Reviewed by Victor Buhagiar (Reader)
Reviewed on August 29, 2007
I sense a new style in this short cameo of a story. I'd love to see you rolling from one side of the pavement to another, singing New York, New York in a raucous voice. Blessings. You've made my day. Victor
Reviewed by blue soplain (Reader)
Reviewed on August 29, 2007
i love the vignette, the sultry film noir/classic feel of this; only you could construct something this seemingly easy... the stop.still imagery is so unique here. ..a debutante swinging from lightposts, a gypsy curled in the corner of the world. ..
you are a phantasmagoric thing~
sublime even~
ness
The true story of Cheryl Pierson Cuccio who made headlines in 1986 and her husband Rob Cuccio. Cheryl was abused sexually and physically and Rob died for 43 minutes on Cheryl's 43rd birthday.
A passionate and poignant memoir written by a woman whose life has been guided by the words: "I am here to learn how to love well." The book is a deep examination of relationships, family, motivation, and honoring of the Self.
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
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(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Budapest? Dang. Really did tie one on......LOL
Be safe,
Karen
Made me chuckle! Just love to c h u c k l e.
Kathy
Dan
Bottoms up!!!!!!!
Georg
you are a phantasmagoric thing~
sublime even~
ness
ET
hugs
Fee