The Triangle of Unsanitary Mouthwash

Two nights ago, during a particularly hard fought bought with loneliness mixed into ecstasy of new place blues I went out drinking. Surprise surprise.

All of downtown Des Moines is awash in lofts - lofts Lofts LOFTS! To the sunlit sky roof of lofts! I read the papers. It's a renters market. Ain't no one living in most of these lofts. Now there are two buildings where they used to build old cars down on 10th and Cherry called the 10th Street Lofts. They rent out. It is here, in #108, where I reside. Send me things.

10th Street Lofts are nestled between three rather incriminating and debaucherous institutions. First, it must be made clear, that downtown DM is a mini-NYC. You've got your shiny tall buildings (skyscrapers, they call them out here, the tallest of which I work in at the top top floor and I've been told this is the tallest building between Chicago and Denver) and then smack up against them you've got warehouses, vacant, some not (the vacant ones I came out here to jump into). And it's wonderful! These old buildings crumble into bohemian sinkholes - exposed brick and air ducts! Morgan Ave butting its way into the Empire State. I walk to work.

But these three institutions - to the east - an overnight penitentiary for DUI's, to the south, an all night porn-shop aptly named The Gallery where they charge you $1 to even walk in the door, and to the north Raccoon River Brewery. A man can get into a lot of trouble in this little triangle of unsanitary mouthwash.

It was here at Raccoon where they have a beautiful bar I have been spending many of my evenings. I've apparently been here long enough to be entered into the regular club - the kind where you tell them you're in the business and you tip real well and are rewarded with prompt service and drinks that you know you drank which have mysteriously disappeared from your bill.

And so two nights ago I stumbled the 40 feet home and onto my air mattress I fell. I remember pulling my computer out and the NY Times website was on the homepage. And then I fell asleep.

This morning I woke up and opened the NY Times and went about my reading/coffee/trying not to smoke ritual. And there on the letters page was my name. Below a letter. That it said I wrote:

www.nytimes.com/2007/10/04/opinion/lweb04brooks.html?_r=1&ref=opinion&oref=slogin

Second letter down.