We’re having a heat wave. It’s in the thirties now, light flurries, pleasure in walking home at night.
The day was spent in Queens, off the island. My arms and hands are made of electricity and pillows. I buzz from wine and the unflinching smiles of voluptuous women.
The way home:
Pleasant pleasures, a cheap beer near 42nd Street and salty popcorn. Into bed, then, I suppose?