Once I sat next to a pretty young lady on the long train ride from Grand Central Station to Connecticutt. She was reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles
by Thomas Hardy and was in a play on Broadway. We had a pleasant conversation, although she must've thought I was way backwards, being a Texan and all. I still have a crush on her, nearly 20 years later, no matter how gracefully or ungracefully she may have aged, simply because she was so nice to me, a stranger, on a very cold (17 degrees) and very dark November night in New York City. Ever since then, I've subscribed to the Village Voice, and sometimes I put an ad in, asking her to call me in Texas. But she never does.
David, pissing in the wind