it would break my mother's heart

[mywaybackwhen]

Ran into a guy on my bike (bruised neck, arm--mine, not his); rode slowly fearfully home contemplating the wet streets, my nearly nonexistent brakes, my own mortality--to find a postcard from Israel in my mailbox. Saying: don't miss NY at all. will try to write soon. love.

The postcard looks like hell. I feel like it.