I feel like my life is coming to an end, and so it is I guess. It began with a trip from New York after I had just cleaned out my room in the Henry Hudson Hotel on 57th Street. I had lived there for 20 years, including some romances and many visits to theatres around the country. I headed for Bristol PA for no other reason than the playhouse here where I had performed off and on for 14 years.
I moved into this house 2 days before the World Trade Center came down. That was 11 and a half years ago and now that life is ending. But this time. Instead of going toward something I'm going away from something, namely the chamber of horrors this house has become. It is very sad. What had once been my small aerie attic hideout by the river has become a way station for human trash.
And yet this isn't the end of my life, it only feels that way tonight, and probably tomorrow night. My intelligence, my sense of adventure and my love were invested here, one by one. They have all been violated.
I have a new rock to shade me from the scorching sun, a new hideout from the trash, a new set of adventures, a new life.
Bring a bedroll, a bottle, some good conversation and come visit me.
I still am
DB - The Vagabond
Never, never give up.