Greetings from Albany, New York

Lunchtime in North Albany. The unseemly section of Broadway by the Miss Albany Diner. I have to drop something off at the Arnoff Building and have no recollection of where this place is, suddenly remembering, Oh, yeah: that’s the building with "Nipper", the RCA dog on top. Circling around, looking in the sky for the majestic dog, trying not to hit pedestrians crossing the street. Actually, though, that’s a pretty safe bet. There’s no one around. This part of town is totally sketchy. Some remnant of a William Kennedy novel, with all of the lifeblood sucked out of it. One in a succession of decaying teeth within the overarching framework of a mouth full of rot (sorry, William Kennedy; I know that probably eats you up, dude. You and me, both).

I buzz EASSE at the Arnoff and am greeted with someone talking back at me in a shrill hiss that sounds a lot like a Jimmy Hendrix guitar solo. "What?" I say. "I can’t hear you." They buzz me in. There’s no directory and so I just wander around the hallway. Irish American Historical Society? What’s that? I think, simultaneously walking right into the office. Two pasty-looking women want to know what I am doing in there. "Uh, do you know where EASSE is?" I ask them. "Well, there are only two floors, and since there is nothing else on this floor, I would suggest it’s on the second floor," I am told in the didactic voice you use to talk to small children." OK. Well the elevator seems to go all the way up, and since Nipper the dog resides way up above, what of those other floors? I decide not to push it. I am clearly a disturbance in the very important affairs of whatever it is these two women do at their desks all day. I have no proper business in here. Decide not to ask anymore questions. "Thanks, though," I tell them. Penny greets me in the hall. "Are you Penny?" I say. Yes. Here you go. This is for you.

Back out into the world. A nice day for once. Back up Broadway and over to S. Pearl, bustling with action this time of day. Throngs of state employees are hustling around on a thirty minute lunch break. JC is probably at work right now, serving these same people martinis. That sucks. No constraints and just driving around, rolling down the window for effect. A good hair day for once, I reflect, looking in the mirror. The stars have aligned in our favor. Up State to Eagle and past the Egg, shooting over to Madison by the State Museum. Hey, look: there’s Kristen, our ex-coworker on one of her lunchtime power walks. I park illegally by the museum and say what’s up. "Hey, Kristen! What’s going on?" I gesticulate from the curb. She has no idea who I am from the distance, probably thinks I’m one of the vagrants who resides in the concourse, totally misinterpreting my good-hair day. "Hey, Ry!" she greets me, finally recognizing. "How are you?" She has to get back to work, though, and so she’ll see me around. OK. See you later.

Back in the car. I’m listening to a cd copy of SY Dirty at full volume. Good sunny-day weather music. Not too many Lee songs on here, I reflect. That’s cool. Some people like them. It’s a matter of preference, I think. Something more deeply encoded in your DNA. My pen pal, for instance, she’s a Lee-song person, from what I could gather. Hey, Joni: put it all behind you. That’s a good one. Gets stuck up in your cranium, doesn’t come out for a while. I listen some more as I continue up Madison, driving by the college. Perfect little student archetypes crossing the street there. Flip-flops in winter, I muse. Doesn’t seem like very functional footwear. Oh, well. Albany is looking ugly as ever today. Hey, Joni: put it all behind you, I think to no one in particular.