Whenever I need to relax, reflect or pretend I’m in Asia, I go to Times Square. I like it. I have good associations with the place. I was there when Michael Jackson died and the hullabaloo made me proud to be an American.

David and I walked there from uptown sometime after midnight Saturday and rejoiced in its ephemera, including an unassuming man with a boa constrictor around his neck (can’t decide if he’s on par with or above the man with the cat on his head) and being called fags by some Jerzettes. It was wonderful.

And that is how I concluded my summer vacation.