Sometimes he gets up on the desk by the fax machine, leans over the cubicle wall and checks to see if I'm OK, and if I am OK, willing to say hello without being sarcastic.
That day she wanted to know what he was doing, who he was talking to, what he was looking at.
So during a busy afternoon of many clients attempting clean and sober, and full urine cups checking to see if they did, Constance climbed up onto the desk too, and she and YaYa, old friends and long-time colleagues, got a little visit in. I just took pictures.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.