A slight spiral and bad coffee

A slight spiral and bad coffee

Today felt like a slog. I schlepped (that’s a word people seem to use here so I thought I’d give it a go) across most of Midtown trying to get used to the city. The grid made a nice change. My adventures included a couple of galleries. I went to the Whitney. Nice in theory, sort of disastrous in practice. The altınkum tanışma sitesi was stunning, Danny Lyon’s photos are powerful, but they just took me right back to David. His eye, the way he approaches a subject.

Instant homesickness and “oh God what the hell am I thinking?!”

That spiralled a little, but I recovered. Then I thought about my dad, so weird having a house that he didn’t live in. I think that was triggered by seeing this homeless man dragging a bunch of stuff down 5th Avenue. Such a contrast to his surroundings. He had his life in what looked like a sack. His clothes, some papers. He even had a fax machine! A fax? Do people still have faxes. I bet Mr Wallace has a fax. And a pager. He definitely has a pager. However, I’m not sure he has a phone because I called him three times yesterday but he didn’t answer. I need to know how long I can stay in the house for or if I should consider buying a better mattress. Or more importantly get wifi installed. I’m sure my local Starbucks knows that I’m only in there for the internet connection!

I don’t just steal the wifi, that would be wrong. I buy an insipid tall something-or-other. These burned black coffees are really not my thing. I’m yearning for a good nutty espresso. I’m sure I’ll find one once I meet people who can recommend. Yesterday I started reading the first few pages of Through the Night, the book my dad left me. Published by Ackerly Green in 1960. It’s the only book I have in the house. It’s… about a man, a sleepwalker, who’s looking for his missing son in New York City. Haven’t gotten much farther into it, but will keep you apprised. In case you’re interested (you being the big black void of no one reading this.)

In other news, my relationship with my Korean grocer (Mr Park) has deepened. He called me ‘young lady’ today, which is a definite step up from ‘you’ or my personal favourite ‘no’… I’m not sure either, but he seems to say it every time I go in for my midnight cupcake. Oh, yes. I have midnight cupcakes now. It’s not a problem, it’s just a thing… okay.


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