After the last three months or so of lockdown, it’s a funny thing now that the days are wide open free sky springtime in bloom.

The feeling is quietly nervous, silently fidgety, as if I don’t quite know where to put my hands. I’m not complaining, really, I’m just...still figuring out how to deal with the rest of my life. All this time I’d been excited about moving to London, I’d apparently forgotten that moving to London means leaving New York. And that leaving New York means leaving America, this America where I’ve lived and grown up over the last ten years.

Still, when it’s time to go,...

* * *

I was in this morning till I couldn’t be in anymore, and then there was an outside cappuccino and a chick magazine at Café Regular, a funny phonecall with funny Lurlene, and then a walk up Fifth to a fish sandwich and a fizzy Ribena at the Chip Shop, O how I love my neighborhood.

Easy like Wednesday afternoon meant poking about in the new schmancy Union Market, wondering at which point a yuppie grocery store becomes laughable. Laughable, and yet, so tasty-smelling.

I was out till I couldn’t be out anymore, the sun beating down on shoulders already tanned. In the cool shade of inside, having downed several stripey glasses of cold water, I see that the world outside is vast, and calling.