the other night we went to chelsea hotel,

for a small gathering with a great ocassion.

and you could tell...

that place is a home of melancholics,
of lonely singers, of desperate lovers.
of those who stay behind thick curtains
in a world of decadence and lust.

but those long hallways never look empty,
and those silent rooms are never cold.

so i felt a relief.

nancy, at least, had a perfect scenery to die.

*by pure coincidence, we stayed in the room where sid vicious stabbed his girlfriend in 1978...