Even though I was disconnected, uprooted, I was trying to fix a position. A map in a city such as New York was my enemy. The grid and all-too logical numbered street layout simply gave me Sudoku-like fear. Numbers on grids gave me the willies. Only in south NYC, where the streets had names did I begin to orientate with any success, the rest of the time I was a rudderless, ageing naïve. Fear was palpabe and I was radiating fear. Fear of self. Fear of the Other. Fear of fear itself. The painless and quick removal of my plastic self-validation had left me literally on the streets. The British Embassy offered platitudes and a dismissive look, despite the fact that I had money on another continent, but really that money was practically virtual, no doubt spinning from financial roulette wheel to dodgy transaction on the London Stock Exchange, it was notional money. I scuffed along to Western Union to set up a wire transaction via home. $500 max, which wasn't enough, minus commision to get a flight and accomodation. The street it was then, along with all the other flotsam, most I had been polite to, infact I'd taken pity on two strays and gave them refuge in my Waldorf Astoria apartment room on a compassionate whim. Danny and Ruth. Heavy on the horse ; Ruth turning tricks as Danny combined a cocktail of Methodone and whatever street samples he could rustle.They were a team. I gave him my guitar. They slept in my room as I paced the NYC streets. I couldn't sleep. Back in the UK, I was becoming persona non-grata for what I had done before leaving. I fully expected not to return; just to become part of the invisible non-Green-carded labour market, or an accomplice of Danny and Ruth's. I was clueless. The core of my world was like an out of control gyroscope and I was circling around a cyclone of my own making. I'd tried the Spanish Islands. No use. Created trouble out of thin air. Madness was extant. I reckon I had caved into the cyclonic forces and was collapsing into the negative gravity of my part of the multiverse. A nether-hell. Here I was staring into 2AM neon strip-lit stores, late-night diners, bars, as the hyper-kinetic world of Manhattan pulsed spinning around me as I stood still. Escaping the emergency room scene at 4AM previously, or thereabouts, I couldn't tell, this was non-linear timelines, back and forth, always a disaster on the event horizons. Too many life-sweeteners on the way, too many decisions on the coin-spin logic of the truly idiotic. Classic stuff. What was I anyway? A non-person at home, wherever that was and here I felt no more or less different, only a new cast of characters. I broke free of the musing and continued, heading for the Metro. I would ride some trains and keep spinning towards the centre of the non-self.