A couple weeks ago, my bag stuffed to overflowing with groceries from the (can I just say insane) Trader Joe's on 72nd, I was calmly riding my bicycle north, homeward, on Central Park West. Somewhere in the 80s I semiunconsciously noticed the numbers were going up and started: "Oops," I thought, and turned west at the next street and then turned again; and as I began calmly, smugly even, pedaling south down Columbus, I realized with a bigger start that I was now going in the wrong direction...and had to turn around again. So strong is my residual homing sense from the few years that I lived in The City before – years ago, on Broome St – that this is the third or fourth time since returning here that, in a kind of trance, I have begun going south in order to go home.
Or perhaps Jakeed Jakeed's correction to The Manhattan Law of Gravity has finally been tested – and failed? Time, as They say, will tell, na, kiss and tell. And no doubt we shall need to consult with Eclipse the Gum...
tonight, rather than my current-these-days soporific of choice, i.e. streaming an episode of the x-files, i am emailing old friends whom i miss dearly, whilst turning to a prior, venerable, timeless soporific: das boooze...
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