[Walking down a street in the West Village, brushing the snow off ledges and walls with our hands. We discuss the properties, and tenacity, of dirt. Shoes versus mittens, absorption.]
"This seems like a more privater space, I'd say. This doesn't sound like a street. It sounds like a town."
[Train ride, discussion of numbers. Inside, everyone warmer, the next activity can begin. Dad tries to move right arm, but once again it hurts too much, and he surrenders to a chair. Time passes.]
"Dad, somehow we've gone from making cupcakes to making a whole cake. I thought you'd like to know."Posted by Sasha at January 20, 2005 03:26 PM | TrackBack