Okay, I'm strolling Prince St. in SoHo, my old stomping grounds, when this dazzling young women comes wafting at me grinning, waving, saying something in fond greeting, whoa. Oh, she's on the phone, and it's not 1978.
I can't tell if being deep into writing a book makes me happier or sadder. Either way, I'm pretty sure it's my proper habitat.
