Tonight I walked some more.

From 107th street, past the seated comedy show barker who spieled me with "Free Comedy" before realizing that he knows me, me being charming and pushy at the same time. Past my old block, past the best falafel hut in the city, Jerusalem, most intensive veggie combo platter, yes even better than my locally beloved Damask on Avenue A, I ate most of my meals there when I lived in my rent controlled room on 104th. There was a Ben and Jerrys replacing the scary coffee shop into which I never, ever entered; the Associated, now a chain drugstore of some stripe. I recalled the Dominican families who stayed out late well into the summer, and beyond, cheerfully playing dominoes outside all the buildings on the block. Tonight was for many reasons a nostalgia walk, reliving the early 90s very very much out of context, many places were gone, many still remains, and a slightly willing victim to hear some of the tales. The great discount clothing store on 96th where I took clients to shop and shopped myself from time to time, where I ran into my model-bartender-fling from med school to their amusement, was now a Washington Mutual just like everything else. The Dive Bar still exists, the dart board and pool table and rest room in awkward juxtaposition, and I had many nonspecific smiles despite things. After 96th street I walked alone.