Several days ago Lauren showed me a piece she had written upon our return from New York City, where we spent the preceding weekend in search of art. Together with two other short pieces, it formed a collection entitled “New York.” Here goes:

Blind man crossing the 10th Street on Avenue C, cane pouncing the asphalt—left, right, left, right, left, right—and making eye contact with everyone he sees. Wry smile. One old man looks back in consternation.

I was delighted by the piece. Precise, frugal, artless, it reminded me of haiku. Besides, it described quite well my relationship with many of those who had received my Residua as a gift and a token of lasting friendship. Although they often feel compelled to say something like, “Of course, I have known it all the time,” they are ever so slightly embarrassed by the old smile.