Today, as Lenya was walking out of the door of the dance studio, I passed an elderly man who looked to be in his mid-eighties. Standing up straight, he would have been about five five, but he could not stand up straight. His back was hunched over and nearly horizontal, and his hips were turned to his right so both of his legs jutted out sharply. His pelvis also seemed to be tilted forward. He had white hair and a line of thick drool stretched down from his mouth by about seven inches. I could see the damp spots on his brown trousers where the saliva had broken and fell. In his left hand he carried a brown briefcase and his small steps carried him at a clip. I smiled at him as we passed and he looked up at me and gave me back a big bright smile. When I looked back a few moments later, I saw him slip into Mariela's Argentine Tango Room. Lenya was listening to my walkman and heard one of those pretty, breathy feminine voices that are so popular of late sing the line, "In my Present there is so much Past."
In other news, the garden is doing well. First lettuces, chives, basil, kale, radishes, and sungolds have been very soothing to Lenya's lucky heart. Don Bachardy came over for a spot of Arak this evening and he said the best, most true thing: "Everything I value in my life has come as a result of my queerness." I could have just kissed him for that.