Everyone said I should take a vacation and so I took a vacation.
It was just me and my brother, Jeff, and we walked around New York City. We looked up at the buildings and at restaurants that sold pizza by the slice, and we looked at many people who were looking up at the buildings and restaurants that sold pizza by the slice.
We looked at the building where Lou Reed met John Cale…
…and the one where William S. Burroughs lived in the Seventies and Eighties:
We looked at the Chelsea Hotel, where Mark Twain and Allen Ginsberg stayed and where Sid killed Nancy and where Dylan Thomas died.
I showed my brother a picture of Genesis from 1972 and said, “Can we find this rock?” Sheepishly. I asked him sheepishly. And naively, too. As questions go, it was a pretty dumb question. Central Park is 6.1 miles around. One-point-three miles square. I was asking about a single rock from 1972.
Jeff looked around. He looked up. Then he pointed at a rock about twenty feet from where we sat.
It was the Genesis rock.
When I got back home, everyone asked me about my vacation. Had I seen the Statue of Liberty? (Yes.) Had I seen the Empire State Building? (Yes.) Had I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge? (Yes, that, too.)
“What was your favorite part? Tell us absolutely everything!” everyone, the same everyone who had told me I should take a vacation, said.
“I saw a rock where Genesis sat in 1972,” I said.
And then everyone looked kind of sad, as though I were missing some very important point about it all.