November 9, 1986
God, I miss New York.
Fifth Avenue… Christmas shoppers… rich ladies in furs laden with shopping bags and kids… crisp cold autumn air… the smell of burnt pretzels… St. Peter’s… the steel drum players wearing woolen gloves with cut-off fingers, breath condensing on the air…
I’m looking out the window at the San Francisco skyline across the bay dotted with white sails. It looks unreal. Like some kind of paradise.
