St. Bart's, St. Bloomingdales, and the Street Whores.

I went into Bloomingdales tonight, and walked out wearing a newly purchased orange cashmere sweater. It felt so nice to walk in wearing an old blue wool sweater and walk out wearing something new. Looking to escape the cold night air, I was drawn to the main doors of St. Bart’s, which is close to Bloomingdale's. God, there was a lot of snow tonight.

It seemed to me that the main doors of this church should have been locked. Nevertheless, I went inside and discovered I was alone. Muscle memory kicked in. First, I blessed myself with holy water, then knelt down in the aisle next to the pew in homage to the statue of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and finally made the sign of the cross, even though I have been told that God will never love me. Once I had finished with the insincere fanfare and the worshipping of false idols, I slid into the pew and sat down quietly.

Once the echo of my movements decayed, I was blanketed in complete silence, and I was completely alone. It seemed so special, this moment. The dead silence overcame me and I started to cry. Harder than I ever cried in my life, and I had no idea why. Because every single person I spoke to today was an aggressive asshole? Who knows, but I was wailing. The last time I heard those sounds coming out of another person, it scared me. Good thing I was alone. Since I was in church, I made a plea for some help, just in case God might change his mind and give me a blessing or two.

Then I started singing a couple verses of a Bach Cantata. My voice spun out and bounced everywhere. I even felt a little light headed. It lifted my spirits to sing full voice, in a church, without the worry of disturbing neighbors like when I sing in my apartment. Once I had finished, the sad silence came back.

I decided to grab my Bloomingdale's bag and head out, and that’s when I determined that a custodian or Pastor must have left the door unlocked. Five homeless people, bones frozen, had also discovered the door, and were now setting up their evening beds in the vestibule next to the holy water dish.

One of them told me that he had walked up from the Village because a voice in his head told him to go to St. Bart's with a promise of heavenly music. He also asked me if I had any spare change, and I told him, "No. Sorry." He looked nuts. I stepped over them and exited the building. On my way to the train Uptown, I called the police and told them they ought to come to St. Bart's because someone was trespassing. Damn, it was cold in NYC tonight.