I got a broken foot and I hobble up and down the street singing songs of experience. Dylan is my constant companion from my Astoria hotel to the blue sky cafe. I see Captain sunshine he waves to me as I pass by. Street urchins warn me to be careful. Transvestites hang outside the cafe. A man begs me to take a parcel back with me to Melbourne. Hey I saw Midnight express I told him. Outside on the street John Hurt is begging . The elephant man pleads for a drop of compassion , a droplet of kindness from the wounded white fella. I hop on by heading for the Fairlawn hotel. This city of joy is getting to me. I order my kingfisher, put my leg up to rest, and a man comes over , he’s got a plastered leg too. ‘Mind if I sit’, he says. He’s a journo just got back from China and the Shao lin monks . His friend a blonde from England , another journo with melody maker. I tell them I got a Dylan songbook in my back pack. I sing them my songs of experience. That night I got seriously drunk, I have this habit of going right to the edge. Sudder street, a place of the lost and found.