Actually, I was on my way to Duane Reade to buy a shower curtain. Dish is ever-mindful of those menial tasks, the break sorely needed from crumbling sentences and putting them back together again. In one Woolf-esque moment (I think I'll buy the shower curtain myself), I stood on 19th street, watched the giggling couples, the sad Saturday night bar scene, the idle firehouse and jittery boys looking for cough syrup. I am part of this landscape--the scraggly girl running errands. Would it ever change? No. But Duran Duran is almost here.
If only Mrs. Dalloway had listened to Hungry Like the Wolf.