Loose ends.

I got to the predetermined Mexican restaurant too late for food, and without the camera I'd apparently left on my couch. It was a birthday party, so our next stop was the new porn store on St. Marks. What is in Spanish Fly? I suppose I could look it up. They had video booths in back, and we all crowded in and channel surfed for a minute. It's a new store, so it was pretty clean back there. The birthday girl and I lagged behind the others as we headed to the bar, telling stories in the fading heat wave sun. The rest of the night involved video bowling, stepping in gum, and the usual shared cab to Brooklyn with Megan.

There were these two double-wide trailers in the schoolyard across the street. I never really knew what they were until last week. Some guys took down a good portion of the fence, and large flatbed tractor-trailers filled the yard. A huge crane set up on the sidewalk. They cut the trailers in half long-ways, and hoisted them over the fence to a flatbed that pulled onto the street. The building rotated as it swung toward the carrier, and we onlookers could see it was a schoolroom. It was still set up from the last day of school with writing still on the blackboard, teaching aids pinned to the bulletin board, and colorful drawings taped here and there. Each building segment a tiny classroom diorama, blown back up to actual size. The desks and other furniture were already removed to a distant corner of the schoolyard. For the next few nights, kids would fling chairs and tables as far and as loudly as they could, and even slid stuff down a stairway from a building exit.

I am surrounded by little black and white prints. It's part of the editing process. Some of them will be postcards. I wish more people sent cards back.

I went to my dentist a few weeks ago, and while reading some out-of-date magazine, I saw a mouse jet across the room. There's really no way around it; second floor of an old building, above a deli, with apartments on the other floors. I let the receptionist/assistant/technician know, in a low voice so as not to upset any other patients, but she wasn't as discrete with her response. Later, she told the Dr. and the two of them were unnecessarily jumpy together. Maybe it's me.

There was this family of three, clearly tourists, running onto my train, asking if it went to 42nd St. It didn't, so they got off. Unfortunately, their young son didn't make it through the doors in time. Mom looked truly horrified looking at her boy through the sealed door, and the guy next to me put down the little music notebook he was neatly jotting down a melody into, and yelled to the parents to stay where they were. We pulled away. The kid tried not to look scared, but it didn't work. We both got off with him, and told him to get on the train across the platform, and mom and dad would be waiting right there. We walked away after telling him which train to take to 42nd St., and not to worry, He'd have a good story to tell in the cafeteria.