Here is how I return to New York: With the oily forehead of a full day traveler. Hair of medium cleanliness. Anxious, with a sadness that resembles a scab.
Here is what I return to: A metal raindrop. One dollar pints of raspberries. Lemon water. A party where people wear onesies and drink punch from a heavy crystal bowl found at the Salvation Army and eat tacos with jicama and red beans and plantains, round almond crackers with brie, and play table tennis, without the table.