I just wanted to be alone. It takes practice, like anything these days. So I sat in Grand Central with a sandwich and a magazine alone. The people walked by in a rushed daze and they did not look at me because I was alone. I walked down Madison Avenue with a milkshake and the bus did not stop for me because it went up and I went down and, I knew, because I was alone. Then, listen, in the park, a light breeze turned my pages while I was alone. I was making progress. John Scofield happened to play guitar and the crowd nodded along pleasantly and I sat against the fence because I was alone and because I wanted to be. That’s what I reminded myself, placing my magazine back in my bag, tucking my hair behind my ear. That’s what I had wanted.


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