I’m Waiting for the Man
as told by someone even more sedate than Lou Reed
A drug buyer feels fine.
He felt good.
He had not shouted.
He had not bawled.
He had not hollered.
He had split from the intersection of Lexington and 125th.
He had gone down three flights of stairs.
He had not had time to waste.
He had bought heroin from a drug dealer.
He had tasted the heroin.
The drug dealer and he had gone up to the three flights of stairs.
The drug dealer and the drug buyer had gone up to a brownstone.
The neighbors had not cared that the drug buyer had wanted to buy the heroin.
The neighbors had known that the drug buyer had wanted to buy the heroin.
The drug dealer had arrived at the intersection of Lexington and 125th.
The drug buyer had replied “I’m just looking for a dear dear friend of mine” to a resident.
He had replied “Oh pardon me sir, it’s the furthest from my mind” to the resident.
The resident had said “Hey white boy, you chasin’ our women around?” to him.
He had said “Hey white boy, what you doing uptown?” to the drug buyer.
The drug buyer had waited for the drug dealer.
He had felt sick and dirty.
He had held twenty-six dollars in his hand.
He had waited for the drug dealer.
He had gone up to the intersection of Lexington and 125th.
He had wanted to buy the heroin.
The end.