Front and back of a telephone call message. I don't remember the meaning of the stuff on the back (Rockin' Marsupial? Funky Monkey? Andy Capp's wit? What? It might be a word puzzle from a newspaper.), but I wrote it. The front desk person at the Parc Lincoln Hotel took the message from Marie on written on the front of this slip of paper. Marie worked for a company called Research and Forecasts. They paid people $10 an hour to call homes and conduct surveys. Research and Forecasts was located in the basement of a building at 57th Street and 2nd Avenue. The Parc Lincoln is the filthiest pithole I ever lived in. At the time of this phone message )December 14, 1990) I lived in room 1422 on the 14th floor with a downtown view of Amsterdam Avenue. I couldn't afford the 14th floor for long, and moved to room 317 on the the 3rd floor. Close to a ground floor restaurant and deli, the 3rd floor of the Parc Lincoln was vigorously roach infested. I would put a plate of food down, turn around, and turn back a few seconds later to find my plate of food busy with roaches. This memory of shaking the roaches off my plate of food, the plate left unattended for just seconds, has become a metaphor for my life at that time. Never more than a second away from a world of shit, all you have to do is turn around, turn back, and there it is. Your food covered with roaches. You rattle the plate to get them off, but they keep coming back.