Not sure any woman has made the immediate impression on me similar to what was left by Brendan Sheelagh Bikko. Her friends call her Danny, but I call her Bikko after the South African champion of human rights. I remember a story a lawyer told me about meeting Uma Thurman when she was young and looking for legal representation. And how he felt when she left his office to sign with another lawyer; Bikko would walk out of my life and into her own private creations, and when the door shut I was happy, initially, because she took me so much for granted. But time mollifies, and now I find myself eager to create something in her name again. But memories, especially from California, twist facts into histories they never had, and perhaps I am guilty of this now, too.

Since the planes fell on their heads, New Yorkers move with trepidation and talk in hesitation. Eyes ringed in fearful white, their shock has still not worn away, and the entire metropolis is wired with apprehension. They deny this, of course, unless they know you well enough to be honest.