Rewind further to --> Rounded heavy silverware. A mobster dinner - the last supper - with G.S. and Alethea at Lansky Lounge. At month's end Alethea is off to Olympia forever. Farewell toasts all around. Also, am offered design job at record company where G.S. works. Would work in the Village - would work on Sullivan street - would eat at Cafe Reggio daily - would sip their cappuccino... mmmmm, also daily. Unfortunately this particular company peddles only the worst kind of crap imaginable. I turn it down. Probably a very dumb decision. This makes G.S. very sad, and she spends most of the evening, with much hilarity, plying me with drinks to get me to say yes. I say maybe. A shared dessert (slab of chocolate cake the size of Gibraltar) and then onto screeching subway to Alethea's apartment. We talk and drink and play cards - all antiquated games like Gin Rummy where no one is sure of the exact rules, each of us having been taught so long ago by our long departed grandmothers. Frau G. teaches us a German game. Bad accents, laughter, accusations of cheating, ammended rules, Tim Buckley, orange light, smell of spice. Twinkling. At dawn, kiss Alethea goodbye and tight embrace. The air is dark and biting. Mid-morning in Hell's Gate fog, slipping into weird dreams of ...