Friday
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| John Reich III drove his wife's Subaru wagon all the way up from Baltimore just to help me move a carload of stuff into the 5'x5' Public Storage room I rented there when I moved to Manhattan a year before. He and the German girl walked up the stairs together, little suspecting they were both heading for the same illegal sublet with the unmarked door. I don't know where she got my name, but she was travelling the world with a vintage camera photographing photographers in their homes and had called earlier in the week to arrange a shoot. I wasn't going to be there for long but she shot me holding a box anyway while John ran up and down the stairs filling the car. | |||
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On the sidewalk we said goodbye to worldly Birgit, who pitied my imminent move to Seattle. We stopped at my psychic's at B'way and 99th to pick up a little something for a friend down south. She warned that it's hard to get back in once you leave New York. It was sunny and everyone was smiling. At a red light we laughed after making eye contact with two moving men who were tuned to the same salsa station and like us had been looking around to find the source of the sirens that were part of the song. | ||
