The plunge had wakened my baby, and when he started crying, all my plans fell through: no sitting in the sun in the semicircle by the sandbox, where the other women loll with their feet up on their strollers, no eavesdropping, behind my preoccupations, on those conversations which shape the world: “He had a hundred and three on Friday, and I thought -” He was angry as most people are when you give them a fright, but his assistant, a tall black man, came with water and a rag for my skinned knee. “But I never let go of the stroller,” I said to our landlord (also proprietor of the drugstore) when he came running out. The front steps of our shabby little brownstone wore pigeon droppings instead of graffiti, obscuring detail one day in November, I slipped there, pulling the baby stroller, and landed on my ass in the street. At first it seemed to be only a break in my routine. Playgirl magazine: May, 1974 – “Girl Alone” began on page 109.I had been living for a year in an apartment in Yorkville, two rooms over a drugstore, when things began to change.
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