In the fall 1992, a month or after we had decided to close OUT/LOOK I got on a plane and flew to New York. I was 50 years old. Several months before that my lover of three and half years had left me and I had begun smoking. I was sleeping badly and I usually woke up at 4:30 or 5 in the morning and after a cup of coffee I walked down 18th Street and along the way I climbed up a winding stairway on a rocky little hill and sat there smoking as the sun rose.

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