When I got to Maud’s around six-thirty Wednesday, her neighbor across the street—who has a penchant for standing by his window in not so much more than a white thong distinct against his dark brown skin—was standing by his window in not so much more than a canary yellow thong distinct against his dark brown skin. While I waited for Maud to buzz me up, he moved closer to the window frame. Maybe he just wanted to wish me a happy birthday, who knows with people. Then I got upstairs and I said, “Maud, your exhibitionist neighbor is—” and I peered across the street, and “—oh. Um. Apparently, at this point, bending over and taking off his thong.”



The apartment smelled of gingerbread just baked and orange blossom oil on the incense burner. Fairy lights strung around the kitchen shelves were small warm glowings of quiet celebration. Soon, there was a gold teapot of spicy tea, and lounging, and sprawling on the low sofa, and eating round, purple grapes one by luscious one. When Tom got there, there was wine, too, and more lounging, and more sprawling around, and, while wisps of cigarette smoke swirled white in the air, we talked baseball and looked at our veins and discussed moving to Cairo and Maud told a joke about a French guy wanting to learn English. We planned parties for the next month: a Wong Kar Wai movie festival, a World Series party, an election night affair, a Thanksgiving feast full of foreigners.

(The movie festival tangent is, Once I told Jeff we were going to have a “Ghostbusters” movie festival, and I said, “And we’re gonna stay up all night, and we’re gonna watch the ‘Ghostbusters’ trilogy, and it’s gonna be great!” and he said, “Oh, you’re so cute,” and I said, “Uh-huh?” and he said, “There are only two ‘Ghostbusters’ movies.” Oh. Well.)

Outside, dusk turned into a clear dark, and a blimp lit up like festivity circled high above the brownstones in the north.



Later, after the rice and carrots and toast, after the avocado and grapefruit, Tom and I walked down the creaky staircase into the night, thick slices of foil-wrapped gingerbread like secret-treasure weights in our bags. Maud waved from her window three flights up. And on the way home, the trains kept coming with no delay.