A couple of years ago I stayed in this motel in the village of Southampton and here I am again. I recognize the receptionist which is a trifle shocking since in the interim I feel I have lived several life spans. I will spend one night here and hit the highway in the morrow for a spate in Manhattan in the guest room of a pal. Then onward, destination tbd.

Moving again. A rented storage space is crammed full, my car is laden, and I am on my way. The only difference with this move is that while I knew that I was leaving Southampton and I even knew specifically when I was to depart, I have yet to figure out where I'm headed.

Friends keep asking me where I’m going, which is annoying, since I have no clue, and frankly I don’t see why they need to know unless they plan on sending cards or gifts, which I might add they never do. So why do they pester? Why do they gotta know? Much more worthwhile would be if one of them could tell me where I’m going, unless it is to hell, in which case they can keep the news to themselves.

Here are some of my choices: (comparable cost-wise)
Airy bungalow in Key West
Hovel in Brooklyn

Hmmmmm, hovel in Brooklyn is really popping out, luridly. Every time I imagine life in a grotty urban apartment I flashback and shudder. In between the occasional loaned lavish spread I have stumbled into some unutterable hovels. Places to lie on the floor in a stupor of disbelief. One time I got myself in the crosshairs of Karma and through the friend of a friend I rented a studio in Greenwich Village for five hundred bucks a month. It was so cheap I felt compelled to take it. Not only was I robbed by the neighbors from downstairs I was also flooded from upstairs which resulted in a mushroom crop sprouting right out of the trammeled leopard carpet. The experience was so dispiriting I booked a one way ticket to Belize and traipsed around Central America. The further south I explored the more I fixated on visiting the Galapagos, and I almost did, except I ran out of money in Guayaquil, Ecuador. But that is entirely another story.

Which reminds me why I am carpetbagging. It is time for an adventure, plus my lease was up. My vague plans are all the more resolute with the backdrop of current events, it is all the more most definitely time for an unalloyed lark.

At least I hope so, I’m really not sure. Knowing the unplumbable depths of my perversions I won’t be too surprised if I never cross the State line and instead plant my flag in an outer borough.