Stairs in the former High School of Performing Arts on 46th Street
My withdrawal to the back staircase during lunch hour had nothing to do with any sense of integrity or autonomy. It was a full body retreat. I just gave up trying to fit in with the kids who seemed to have figured out how to be human.
So I sat by myself and to this day I wondered what I was eating for lunch since I don't remember anyone at home making any more food during those days.
Not sure how it started but the cute violinist came across me one day and asked if he could join me. He too needed a break from attempting to fit into a scene completely foreign to him.
Soon after, the accordion player who was the only one in the school found us. I think the cute violinist had said something.
The 13 year old Prodigy sent to New York by himself, living in a walk-up railroad on the east side by himself, taking care of himself by himself, began to eat with us.
Then so did the pretty oboe player, who the Prodigy liked.
I had without realizing made some friends.
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