Dear John

I think it's pathetic, given my training in the short story, that I can't think of a story! I went to Soho today. Is that a story? I wanted to go inside Ralph Lauren, Michael Kors, Giorgio Armani, Eileen Fisher, the others, but Tony didn't care to shop or watch me shop. At Oilily he found the "man couch," so named by the woman who worked there, and sat down. It was a beautiful day after yesterday's cold rain. We took a cab to an Italian place named for two men. Jimmy was one. Danny and Jimmy's, something like that. I said to Tony, who avoids the internet and thinks Facebook is a suspect way to spend an hour, that I was trying to think of a story to tell you. Later, we were walking, and I thought we'd been pick pocketed while being trailed too closely by a young blind man -- I thought he wasn't really blind -- but I was happily mistaken -- though that doesn't make sense -- and then embarrassed because I had placed a blind person in such a light.