I like to call it The Boulevard of Porn and Trinkets. The urine-soaked man in the wool pants belted with a rope calls it home. The Guardian Angels are headquartered here, and that giant fireman statue has been parked here since that fateful day in September of 2001. Where is this oasis of which I speak? Why, it’s 8th Avenue between 41st Street and 49th Street, of course!
If you’re looking for a $4 “New York Fucking City” hat or a Statue of Liberty pen, then take a stroll up The Boulevard. If you need the latest Buttman video or the very special jelly dildo, you’re in luck! I’ve been offered everything from a toothless hooker to crack cocaine. I’ve seen German families being enticed into the many peek-a-boo theaters that dot the streets. I’ve wondered a million times why anybody would want to go to a fucking Joe Franklin themed restaurant.
I love my little walk to work. Those Gray Line sightseeing tours representatives have an uncanny ability to spot tourists among the locals. Never once have I been offered one of their shiny pamphlets or their elaborate Spanish-tinged sales pitches. I love my walk back even better, as the pimps and drug pushers really turn on the heat after 8PM. My favorite line ever came from a man in a purple suit with no shirt and snakeskin boots. He pointed at a woman whose gut literally went straight south, and who had about four teeth in her head, “This bitch can go all night. Ooohwee! I tell you gentlemen, she’s one hot date!” His lady tried to smile but only managed to make her right eye droop as she staggered off the curb and almost ended up eating a fire hydrant.
Such is the life on The Boulevard, where you can pay $5 to jerk off in a small booth while watching a naked crackhead dance behind a glass wall and then go two doors down the street to buy a $5 t-shirt that advertises “I went to New York City and all I did was pay $5 to jerk off in a small booth to a naked crackhead who danced for me behind a glass wall.” Awesome!