I had to go uptown to some violin lesson or to Schirmers or perhaps to someone's house to play quartets or study theory or meet Louise at her violin lesson or something to do with something that I probably didn't enjoy.
On a piece of scrap paper, Florence detailed exactly what I was to do and how I was to do it. Then she gave me a token.
*Walk to the East Broadway Street entrance.
*Take the uptown F train.
*Be in the back of the train.
*Get off at...
*Walk to the entrance that says...
A couple of trips later, I didn't even need the scrap of paper.
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.