I’ve given up on eating in a lot of city parks because of incidents like this.
This is a sketch of the oldest photograph of my family, which I feel lucky to have. The youngest person in there is my great-grandmother, the woman in the white collar seated in the middle of the front row. The photo was taken right before she left Russia for America. Her mother is seated to the right, and her grandmother to the right of her. I don’t know a thing about the rest of the people in the photo, so I’d like to think they would enjoy my irreverent posing.
“The balloon, beginning at a point on Fourteenth Street, the exact location of which I cannot reveal, expanded northward all one night, while people were sleeping, until it reached the Park.”
-Donald Barthelme, “The Balloon”from Sixty StoriesNew York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1981.