January 7, 2026
17:42 HRS
38°F Cloudy
–Evening-
Going to re-visit this particular shit:
I read something I wrote on January 2, 2013 at 7:42 a.m.:
Song of the Day:
January 4, 2026
HRS
32°F Cloudy
-Mourning-
A Journalist Entry about my Mourning:
Flipping through my, “Bruce Lee,” notebook, I found today’s date from 19 years ago. Here it is:
I was living at Bobby Barbara’s house with my girlfriend at the time, Sherry Hanscom. Sherry was Bobby’s assistant trainer at Belmont Park for the winter, Aqueduct meet. We were stayed there, in Floral Park, New York, watching his dog, “sandy?”, while he escaped the cold to Miami.
His house was so close to Belmont Park, at 3:00 in the morning, the noise of the tractors maintaining the training track would wake us up; and we’d look out the window to see them on the track! Being New York, that stone’s-throw distance was a short, 7 minute nightmare of a drive to the crotch of that racetrack- which was the main stable gate. … was there any other stable gate at Belmont Park? Like a stanky snatch in the early 1970’s, that entrance was hairy with the trampling traffic of people of all smells, colors, diseases, sneezes, farts and coughs. Out, queeffed the same bunch, in exacting fashion, regarding all natural senses. Indeed, the throw of a stone separated a patch of paradise from one of the stankiest snatches which the streets of New York had to offer! ‘‘Twas a good life, though! Young, vibrant,… all those things!
-Afternoon-
-Evening-
New York’s never been my favorite place to live, so I continued my research.
Research:
