Twas the Night Before Rents Due
Twas the night before rents due, and through the Chelsea Hotel
Not a crackhead was stirring, nor the tourist clientele.
But the Shapshak still hung by the fireplace downstairs,
In the hope that Stanley would soon be back here.
New Management was coiled up all snug on their Meds,
While plans for a Legends Cafe fizzled in their petty little heads.
And Marlene in her crotchless, with Elder in a Santa's cap
Planned to blame this bloke Tilley – from the Hard Rock, or some crap.
Then from out on West 23rd there arose some rude patter;
I jumped up from my bed when I heard the glass shatter.
And to my uncluttered balcony I made a mad dash,
Half assuming it was Star Lounge's Bridge and Tunnel trash.
Half right was I, and the Goons from the basement
Watched idly as Hip-Hoppers smashed one another’s faces.
Then what with my world weary eyes did I see
But an ambulance, more flashing lights, and the NYPD.
But next morning when the hammers began, I’d really had enough,
I choked as my little apartment filled up with toxic dust.
More rapid than beagles the building inspectors, they came,
And they swore, and shouted, and called the culprits by name!
"Now Elder! now, Tilley! now, Tamasar and McLaughlin!
Remember Born! And Drukier! And Glennon and Bernstein!
You're wrecked this landmark joint! With your presumption and gall!
Now get away! Move away! Stay away all!"
- a resident….
Living with Legends 
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