The blues and the reds
You know when you get the blues or the mean reds? The blues and the reds — whatever you want to call them — well, there isn’t much you can do with yourself but to linger somewhere that makes you feel better.
Some people go have breakfast at Tiffany’s; I go sit on the fire escape of this small apartment building in New York to listen to the woman, who says ‘darling’ more times than I ever could, sing.
Resting my back to the brick wall in lose fitted pants and a knitted sweater, I always stay one floor down from her, waiting for the first few strings of her guitar to be played. Hers is a soft voice, melancholic, but not weary, and the song she sings, well, it is about everything and nothing, just as I go on thinking about everything and about nothing.
It takes me a while to come out from under the cloud of the blues and the reds — I am not sure whether I am ever completely out from under it. I usually need the woman to play her guitar and sing a couple of times…