okay, I'm going to take advantage this evening of the freeform blog form
listening to songs (KZE) all evening
at one point I was standing at the pellet stove (lovely heat)
Penelope came marching up for some touch
but what I'm really trying to set down
is a memory - transcribing notes now -
for some reason, standing by the pellet stove
songs streaming, a memory, an image - a witnessing
came up
Macy's Basement - foodstuffs
a young man dying of AIDS (clearly)
he was almost dead
I don't remember the details - just that
I was shopping - he was dying
he didn't want to die

[think about this more]

***
you know, I want to add to the details and I have a hard time
the young man leaking fluids everywhere (or that's how I think of it now)
was crazed with the desire to keep on living
why in Macy's Basement?
this was back in a day when it was hard
if you'd lived in San Francisco
to get a decent cup of coffee
native to somewhere dried pasta
Macy's Basement was an emporium
it meant something

I have memories of my father
who'd been through a Polish exodus diaspora not so magical
mystery tour
bring home kielbasa, when he worked in the city, from Macy's

Macy's basement
before 1st Avenue became fashionable (again)

he did the best he could. This was c. 1970. He did the best he could.

There came a day I discovered the joys of basil, pureed into pesto. c. 1980.

So old hat now. But that young man, dying of AIDS in Macy's Basement - that's what it meant - to be in an emporium of discovery of little hardwon details that New York City was really NOT about - but that might be found there