Closing a long day of planning catered lunches, negotiating happy-hour rates and begging locksmiths to make the impossible duplicate keys- I departed Midtown on the D-train. It was one of those days where you feel accomplished, but know tomorrow's list is already perched on your desk--burgeoning.
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I wasn't sure what I'd want to write about this evening- the man who kept leaning on me on the morning commute- pressing his derriere into my hand- as I attempted to unwedge my arm from between his body and the hand rail on the train? Patent camel heels? Touching base with one of my favorite Southern gentlemen- a Merrill man. (Have you ever noticed how they are all spot on? Or have I stumbled upon a string of good Merrill Lynch FA's?)
--At home, I caught up with Julia. A recap- and regroup, made a salad. Enjoyed some take-out sandwiches with Vadim. Saddled up Pilgrim and headed down to the pseudo dryer cleaner, True Clean, to pick up my clothes. On the way back, (pas de vetements- they always lose/later find my non-washables) I spotted Charlotte ahead.
"Hustle, Pilgrim."
I felt a bit creepy jogging forward. I spoke with Charlotte's Dad last night- and mentioned Pilgrim, "I'm sure I'll run into you with Pilgrim soon. We live right up the street."
Charlotte turned to see Pilgrim and myself approaching rapidly. She stopped. Looked to David. He paused when he noticed me, "Pilgrim? Is that Pilgrim?"
"Yes. Hi! Sorry we're stalking you, I suppose."
"Charlotte, here he is, Pilgrim."
Six and a half year old Charolotte gathered herself a bit too mature for Pilgrim. She looked up with doe eyes, pushing her ears back. He nudged further. She admitted a wag of her cinnamon bun.
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