lahoma

I was only in California a little over a week, but when I came back to New York, a noticeable shift had occurred. The oppressiveness of the summer had fallen away, and everything was a little clearer, crisper, cooler; it was finally pleasant to be on the sidewalks again. Something was also different with the people----they were out on the streets more, no longer laconic, but energized, urgent, and their rules seemed all changed around.

For instance, at a warehouse party Saturday night: a flimsy, silver geodesic dome dubbed "the Moon" has been constructed on the roof. Partygoers crawled thrugh it to find a large, dark space, people sitting closely, talking and smoking weed.

"Yeah," says my friend Cherie, "this is like, so Burning Man."

A boy with a rockabilly haircut crawls towards us and smiles. He runs a hand up my leg, and lays down with his head in Cherie's lap.

"You're sort of cute," Cherie concedes.

"Can I touch you?" he asks me. "Wow. Here I am, visiting New York City, and I'm on a roof on the fucking Moon with two women."

"Not only that," says Cherie, "but they're both going to make out with you." And we do.

The next day, I've figured out what feels so different: the light has changed. It's coming down in angles now, more fragile, filtering gently through the buildings and the trees.