I saw Michael Jackson’s Ghost in NYC
I saw Michael Jackson’s ghost! I was the first person to see him since his death! I’m pretty sure of that fact. And no one else saw him that day but me.
I wish it was up by the Apollo. That would be super cool, especially if he was singing.
But it was inside Gray’s Papaya. You know those guys. They sell dogs and a papaya drink for like almost a buck. We ate side by side at a counter they had by the window.
I asked him, “Michael, what are you doing here?”
“Bald Punk. I’m hungry. I want a hotdog,” he said.
“How come you’re not in Los Angeles?”
(Photo by Bald Punk)
“They’re all phony. Bunch of phonies. I don’t like LA,” Michael said taking small bites, but sucking the dogs down through his teeth like they were clams.
I watched him eat until he finished. He didn’t mind. He smiled a lot, too. You know he’s used to people staring.
Oh!!! Description of him.
His skin was the color of cappuccino, and his face looked really normal. That’s all I can say. He looked good. He looked happy and at peace.
When Michael was done with his dogs-he had to have at least twenty of them–he let out a humongous burp. I was impressed. Two hot Latin chicks behind him looked right through him at me. Their eyes were like daggers!
“Hee-hee! Hee-hee!” he laughed.
“How about a beer, Michael?” I asked, feeling that he’d want one to wash down the dogs.
“Bald Punk. I don’t like alcohol.”
“What about those stories of you drinking wine out of a soda can? We could have wine?” Now I just said because I talk without thinking. You know that.
“I was sick. Bald Punk. Sick.”
Right then either someone whispered to me just like they did to Kevin Costner in that great baseball movie called Field of Dreams, or I just thought–
“Ease his pain.”
I looked at Michael and he smiled at me in the same way that my roommates, the pizza and Chinese delivery guys do. That is to say, I had no clue what he was thinking. But wouldn’t you know, Michael knew my thoughts.
“I’m dead Bald Punk. I have no pain.” And with that he turned and walked outta the place.
Oh!! He had on a real nice suit. Not expensive or flashy. It was a deep blue color. Don’t ask me how, but it reminded me of the sky.
At that point, it was a really perfect encounter. I should have been happy that he showed himself to me and only me, and went home.
But I started moving. I must have looked like I was climbing over a police barricade. “Michael, do you have any message for your fans?” I blurted. It was all I could think of. I should have mentioned his kids.
“Live,” he said in the sweetest tone.
I started after him, thinking I could just follow him around like he was a holy man or something. He lifted his hand and waved goodbye, somehow stopping me in my tracks.
“That’s it, Bald Punk. Live.”
Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirteen – July 2009 (Bald Punk’s Secrets of NY)