Sunday, November 16, 2008


New York pulled me underwater. With the rain, my cold, the early dark, the headiness of being elsewhere. Even my last sunny day, humidity soaked me.

Larissa and I went swimming. She knows how to handle a teacup on the river, and she knows where the fish bite.

Downtown friends surfaced to splash me and tickle my feet. They've learned how to breathe in that city. The show we went to see, Fuerza Bruta, invited us to drown.

I set out with no plans, no agenda, let the current take me, and it did. This place, for example, called out to us in Chinatown.

We saw a bright white sign in the distance, followed it until we got close enough to see slabs of meat in the window. A turn-off. I wanted tofu, and not silken like they do it in Chicago, something firm.

New York would not let me down. The sign had led us to a corner where, down a street sticky with yellow leaves, we saw the China Village. We both agreed it was singing to us. Later, I bought cheap and gorgeous scarves to keep us warm and dry. My wildest Chinatown dreams fulfilled.

To all my friends who've grown gills, thank you. I miss you again.

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