Phoebe had no way of knowing. She told him she would come but she really had no intention. Not that she would not go but she most likely would not. By late August a New Yorker has no promises to keep. Why even make them then. Phoebe had no way of knowing and no intention of finding out. He was not bad but she could do better. It could be fun but by late August fun had nothing to do with it. Phoebe hated parties and even when she went she never really stayed. She could just go and what the hell. Phoebe left that at that. She guessed she would go. Not that that mattered.

There is something infuriating about shadows in New York in the summer. There are many shadows but not really any shade. Walking up West 4 Phoebe felt fantastic. There were strangers she passed them and felt like she knew them and would never give them the time of day. It was high noon and just like a movie but better than any movie Phoebe had ever seen and there were no angles. Phoebe was no stunner but made for the summer.

Phoebe had purchased translations of the Venetian of Veronica Franco on 6 Avenue. These translations had no value whatsoever but the typography seduced her and there were the phrases like Ecco che fuor d’un antro, or ch’io parlo, esce / coppia felice di due dame snelle, cui sempre star in un sol luogo incresce...Another East Coast cosmopolis with its loyalties tied up in trade and womanizing.