He does not live at 66 Perry Street, but is staying on the Upper West Side. There in the street 73, there is Alice's Tea Cup which may serve perhaps shelter from storms. Because if any, and she will know it and because the first call home when they still have six months is always hard, because there are always those y. ..
soul is left there long ago, as I left I still Daisy leaf removal without buying a plane ticket because I'm afraid I can find the negative. He let his soul and went to pick it up. As if that was still there, crouching among the trees of Riverside Drive in one of the gates of Pomander Walk in Central Park or the Brooklyn Bridge. Or
Times Square. When he arrived, he took a photo to this bustling corner and wrote: "I'm at home."
I'm home. With all the mixture of nerves, fear, expectation and joy.
I've said it many times. You too. That cities are worn inside, girl. When I arrived, I found myself knowing that New York had taught me to look the other way and had become part, in 20 days, of those places where I am. As Sevilla. As Madrid.
Return for a walk at night, quietly, in the Financial District. Heat happen again, to discover how come the summer and fall, to see the human exuberance of Bryant Park: rain and sun will. Despair. And it will be hard. But to me that I do not care, because I care more about the courage, the desire to search that you do have and I lost, laughter and friends await. Those to come. Your habit of starting over and over and over again.
You know. Although the roof will fall apart, it's good to be home.
Go to Legal Grounds. Serve you coffee and a cinnamon muffin. Say hello to the children. And cross the Bridge Brooklyn for me.
Happy Birthday, Bea.
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