Have a look at the hotel with this link:Chealsea Hotel @citysearchNYC
Chelsea Horror Hotel is the title of the novel DeeDee just finished. This work is still unpublished so this is a very special treat for you guys!
'I better try to sober up', I thought to myself as I was walking up 8th Avenue towards The Paws Inn, which is on 38th Street and 9th Avenue-across from the police station.
I always get nervous bringing Banfield to The Paws Inn because there are too many policemen in the area. It's also worse for me because they recognize me and they're looking for trouble. The only thing that helps is some of The Police are Ramone's fans, so it all evens out.
I like this area, though. I have lived in Manhattan for all of my life, but, I don't know what this neighborhood is named. Midtown? Oh, who cares. 34th Street is a great place to walk back and forth from 23rd Street. And it is a great shopping area-there's Macy's, K-Mart, a Wiz around here, lots of MacDonald's, peep shows, and Burger Kings. Things like that. There's also the police on 30th Street between 6th and 7th Avenues, so it's not a good place to try out your pick-pocketing or purse snatching skills, unless you can really run. Anyway…
…As soon as I got near Penn Station, I tied Banfield with his leash to a parking meter.
"What if I get a ticket?" he bitched at me when he saw that there was still time left on the meter. "Aren't you going to put a quarter in it, Dee Dee? Come on, you damn bastard, don't leave me like this"
"Don't worry Banfield." I told him, trying to get him in a better mood. I could tell that he was worried. This poor loving animal is completely dependent on me and can only wait now, in fear, hoping that I will really come back.
The other side of the story is that he is a big flirt and completely unreliable.
But I have to go to the bathroom already and I know he'll be there when I get back.
"Don't talk to any strangers, okay?" I tell him and then duck down into the subway entrance to get the public toilets.
'Christ!' I thought to myself, 'I've got "deli-belly". It's an emergency.'
No more time for any nice gestures I rationalize deep in my subconscious. So, I duck my head, stick my left hand out straight in front of me like a football player, and without any consideration for anyone but myself, start knocking the commuters coming up the stairs from the trains out of my way.
Manhattan is a madhouse in the morning. It seems like everyone is playing football. You have to have a sense of humor about it all.
'This is fun' I think, trying to nut someone in the face before I get down the stairs.
The action is too quick, though, so I kangaroo punch an old lady Crewka Crewka style as an explanation point of my rage.
"Get out of my way! Get out of my way! I am a maniac!" I was ranting. Soon the goo and slobber running down my chin made the going slippery that I to shut up but I did show them that I meant business. In no time at all, I was tidying up in the bathroom, laughing about what had just happened.
The place was amuck with perverts. The commuters seemed Victorian compared to the suedehead population that inhabit Chelsea. You wouldn't want anyone to catch you in there. The smell was horrendous. An aborted fetus protruded from one of the toilets. When I looked around the men's room to see what was up, I caught my reflection in the mirror and saw a skull instead of my face.
This is no good, I realized, breathing the rancid horrible roach spray and ammonia smell in through the two inverted heart shaped slots where my nose used to be.
Felling very ill, like I was going under, I clutched my kneecaps with the naked bones of my fists, and tried stubbornly to fight off blacking out.
As my nervous system started to spaz, I could still see some of the grim white tiles of the lavatory floor, but everything was quickly becoming very vague within my span of vision. There was also a sickly green fog hanging over the room making the situation even more horrible.
By now, I was stupefied. All I could think of was…I've got to get out of here. But, where's the door?
My confusion then turned to pure hysterical terror when the few working light bulbs in this sordid scum pit began flashing maniacly on and off.
This neurotically illuminated the faces and skulls of the demons, losers and psychos and cretins that were coming to life now out of everywhere and the room started to somehow cheer up as the wretched bathroom trolls started revealing themselves.
Their excited chatter was starting to rise to a deafening crescendo, sounding like a million billion insects rubbing their hind legs together.
It was making me feel like you do when you shoot up some cocaine into a vein. Like glue is rushing through your blood and you have to throw up.
I was now going berserk. This was one of the worst situations that I have ever been in. In a complete panic, I could see that the entire floor was heavily littered with strangely damp, stained toilet paper. If I was to fall on the floor and pass out, I was doomed. I would surely catch Zamberian tiger leprosy. There were also sewer worms lounging in the pools of urine where people hadn't used the johns.
Please don't do this to me, God, I started praying, starting to sway back and forth like the Methadone patients do on 23rd Street and Third Avenue, snapping in and out of it, still somehow fighting valiantly I gave my last pleading all.
"God, if you're up there listening now, save me! I am too nice a guy to end up like this, okay…now…"
Then I flipped completely.
"Awwwwwww, noooooooo, noooooo, nooooooo! I am going to catch tiger leprosy!"
Every one of the miserable creatures in this bathroom had already been infected with it. Heir bodies, bones, wings, tails, skin, fur, and even their warts, were covered with a thick, furry, pink mildew from which swarms of outstretched sewer worms protruded.
This bathroom is so foul that anything you brush against or touch will surely be infected or plagued. The only thing I could think of to do in such and emergency was to get high.
Hmmm, I thought… , maybe I can somehow crawl into one of those toilet stalls over by the end of the bathroom, so none of these bastards can pester me for my dope.
Then summoning up some last reserve strength from where, I don't know, I gave the slime bombs in there with their vulturistic attitudes, an extremely mean warning look.
No one was going to grub my last bit of dope off me. I wasn't having any such nonsense. No way. No way. No fucking way! @#%@! You bunch of creeps!
Then somehow, comicly waving a stiletto length hypodermic needle at my adversaries, I managed to stumble into a toilet stall and slam the door behind me.
Can imagine my ultimate shock when I came out of my daze for a brief second, determined to fix myself up. And then, lo and behold, there was my old friend, Sid Vicious, who has been dead already twenty years or so. But, as hard to believe as this seems, there he was, right there in the toilet stall with me. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
"Hey, Dee Dee," he spoke. "Wanna do some Chinese rocks? I got some smokin' bags right here with me."
"Are you really Sid Vicious?" I asked him.
"How can you be here right now?" I tried again, getting no response, other than an elfin grin from him. Well, it doesn't matter, I proceeded along so as not to break the momentum. "Alright, pal, " let's get stoned. I hope it's a good as in the old days," I said, trying to make a little joke, as I eyed the bundle of red metallic dime bags of heroin that he was holding in his outstretched mummified hand.
"Try a few, Dee Dee, these rocks are the real thing" Sid said to me and winked.
"When did you cop this, huh?" I said to him, as I hungrily eyed the dope in his hand. "That looks like the stuff you used to be able to cop on Tenth and Avenue B in the late 70's. Have you had this dope all this time? Like twenty years huh?" I asked him.
"Do you think I'd let you down, mate?" Sid said to me. His eyes piercing into mine. "I got this dope when I got out of Rikers around February of 1979. I've been holding it for us since then, mate." He smirked. "Let's do it."
"Not so fast, Jose, okay?" I answered him. Something seemed too good to be true and according to my New York City demeanor, I was suspicious. So, the best thing to do seemed to stall and make excuses. Which I did.
"Sid, errrr, I have a dog waiting upstairs, okay, and he's scared. I've got to go and get him now, okay? And, hey, look at this," I said, rolling up one of the sleeves of my leather jacket. "There's only a few bones here now where my arm used to be, I could never find a vein. No flesh or blood or skin or anything. I am just a skeleton. Do you think were dead, now, Sid?"
"I'll meet you later at the Chelsea, Dee Dee" he answered. "I was just trying to be nice, ya know. But, to tell you the truth, now, I would rather keep it all for myself anyway. So tough luck, mate."
"Okay. See you later, Sid" I said, stretching out my arm and sort of cupping up my hand slowly, so as to kind of suggest that everything was cool. That I was off-balance, but still had my charming good guy attitude, which had to be impressive.
And I also, throughout all of this horror, was desperately trying to keep a stiff upper lip but, in the small space of the lavoratory stall, I was unable to avoid not seeing Sid start to fill up his hypodermic needle from the toilet bowl.
'This is unimaginable' I thought to myself. Then, dropping all pretenses of proper and good social behavior, I emptied my guts out on to the floor.