New York Ramblings
Fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut go the pigeon’s wings slapping the walls of its tiny concrete airshaft by my window. I sit up in my mattress and rub my eyes,
I stand here holding the key to my apartment. It’s jagged copper edge reminds me of a downward graph, like the Wall Street crisis. This is Brooklyn, though.
It’s early October. I’ve been sharing Sally’s flat with her for two weeks since Anita left. Just Sally. And I. Sharing. Two weeks. I arrange to move out.