Whiffs

Was walking, in business mode, down an old Tribeca street this morning, wearing the black manhattan uniform plus trench coat (secretly, gleefully, felt like Jolie, should have added holsters strapped to my thighs or something, would have sent all the Canal street vendors scurrying out of the way instead of blocking the path and at times almost intentionally trying to trip pedestrians) and heels (feet are now having their revenge for their 13 hour abuse) when I smelled the fumes from two blocks away, and they stopped me in my tracks. They remembered me, and I them. My stomach got that wobbly feeling, and I wanted a brush. A big fat one.

... it was an industrial paint store, all the more apropos as Tworkov painted with the stuff, and I'd been thinking about ol Jack lately..

But mainly it got me wondering.. planting a seed of doubt-ish things... more later. (developing)

Apropos, too: Peter offers a review. I ought to post the one I wrote after attending the opening the other week. To edit and then to post.

Ach, tomorrow, tomorrow, kinder, macht neues.

... life is long if you know how to use it.

So much I had hoped to write, but I've been trying to wean myself off of these late nights... it may not be working out, but it clearly has been impairing my late night ramblings..

Posted: Tuesday - April 03, 2007 at 03:17 AM |