It happened last week.

"In a gray, sodden week, one that pushed New York toward a new record for October rainfall, the city echoed with strange linguistic innovations."

Back in Belo Horizonte after a week in New York.

It was the week I realized I can't live outside: "Excuse me, are you from New York or from outside?" I almost didn't leave yesterday. There was a fire at Queensboro Bridge and the ensuing traffic jam took me close to loosing my flight. I'm convinced it was a plot to keep me here.

It felt good not doing anything special. I like that. Had breakfast at Murray's every morning and lunch at Spice. Walks and digressions with Mr. DF. Snaxx and Beer Blast. Even danced a little bit to Ole' Junior.

It was just a big date with New York City.

Joe told me, over "thai lunch with a brazilian between a table of palestinians and another of french", that my blog is a tone poem to NY (I was telling him I was considering quitting it). I don't agree on its artistic merits but it does have a muse. And I need to be near her.

Message to Steven: you sound just like me here. I wish you luck completing your trip unscathed.