Monday the 30th - 


Many years ago my friend Leslie gave me a little needle point picture - if friends were flowers, I’d pick you.  She once had a boyfriend who she named In My Country. He was from Moldova. Or Estonia. We called him that because that’s how he began many  of his sentences. One hot stifling summer night in the East Village shit got real.  A car alarm went on for hours. In My Country finally ran outside with a baseball bat and recycled the car before recycling was a thing.  


I think of him and Leslie and others on this bright, quiet morning. 



O, I almost forgot. Happy Pride. 




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