Many thanks to all who came. The next few days will be split between sorting through reserve requests, painting new entries, short but meaningful panic attacks, episodes of “The Thick of It,” and cramming on The Cantos.
Cohen says I can’t host a poetry night until I’ve read the first one at least six times. Sounds about right.
Today on the Williamsburg bridge someone shouted “paint me, fucker!” as they biked passed. If you’re reading this, tweet @ me or some shit. Let’s do this. Your expletive was hollar’d with a kind of decency that I may have mistook for real affections.