I really should just show you my photos from New York and end it at that. Not pictured: Flocks of wild turkeys seen on the Merritt Parkway between Connecticut and New York, causing occasional traffic delays; buskers on the subway trains who used paper bags full of change as nifty little rhythmical instruments to such charming effect that I was afraid of being caught smiling (nobody else was on the R train); a hot knish; a mind-bogglingly slow wiener dog in a sweater on Sixth Avenue; Doug and his wife being swell hosts (though there are some pics on his site and audio commentary, too); sunrise on Sheepshead Bay; Kat; patterned hose; the very cozy House Of Dana; White Castle, and a sign in Chinatown for the Dream Come True Beautiful Hair Salon.
Many have written to explain the straws. In general the mouths of New York are more cautious than my own. I’m told that unspeakably filthy things happen on and around innocent East Coast soda cans while they are in storage. It’s not like out here, where hymn-singing Mennonite children carefully wipe the morning dew off each can of Diet Coke with a fresh towel. Fine, so I never thought much about where the top of my can has been. But come on, not every can is on top of the pallet where the rats scurry. Maybe I’ll take my chances.
I’m sorry to everyone I haven’t emailed back lately on account of being in New York and I’m sorry to everyone in New York that I didn’t get to see while in New York, and to everyone I haven’t yet emailed about how I didn’t get to see them while I was, well, you-know-where. I hope to return in the fall.