The Hayden,2

          More times than not, New York threw me to the gutters and kicked me in the ribs. But sometimes, on a rare sometimes, it picked me up and dusted me off, straightened my tie and gave me a pat on the cheek, smiled and strolled by pleasantly.       During the mid-day, The Hotel Hayden would echo hall to hall of soap operas. The old and depressed watched them religiously, desperately trying to fill the silent void with voices. No matter that it’s low-rate Television, anything that sounds like life will do fine. I often had the urge to knock on their doors and be friendly, maybe listen to a story or two, since thats what old people do.        The people in the Hayden happened to be the forgotten, the uncared for. Some family member shoved them in here and most haven’t left since. More than anything they wish they could re-live the past, change that one thing that would have eventually kept them from this place. I was here at 21 so what does that say about Dabney Cartwright? I was here because it happened to be incredibly cheap. At 100 dollars a week, it suited my needs just fine. Didn’t matter that for the majority of the people here, it was a waiting room for the grave, just one last step, one last bed, one last pair of socks, one last address.-Dabney Cartwright

The Hayden

        I’m walking north up Broadway in the upper west side. Small bits of sleet fall on the tops of my ears stinging them like tiny Arctic wasps. The ground was slowly turning white and I had to grip with the balls of my feet to prevent me from falling. Cowboy boots are exactly desirable pedi-protection in the winter, but I wore them for the sole fact that they tipped me over the 6 foot mark. The Apple Bank building displayed the 10 degree weather and the 73rd street sign reminded me I still had six agonizingly frozen blocks to go. I pushed my scarf up over my mouth to heed the inevitable lip-chap.        The streets were practically empty, and for New York City it creepily loomed about me as a constant reminder that at any moment something bad could happen.         My stomach empty, my pockets barren and my bank accounts void of money, I turn the corner towards the Hayden Hotel anticipating the small amount of warmth my room would provide.