Monday. Morning: baked bread. By noon I was downtown, having successfully made the transfer from the 3 to the 4 train, to get to Grand Central Station to meet my agent. I was supposed to meet him at the bookstore there, but since I was early I got into trouble, otherwise known as two more Alatriste books, an unrelated book by Perez-Reverte, and a book on history: Margaret MacMillan's Dangerous Games: The Uses and Abuses of History. When he showed up, we ate at Junior's where I overindulged in chocolate mousse cheesecake (and paid the price later...but so what?), I went by the market there and got some chocolate gifts for people, and we took the 7 train out to Queens to see his new condo. Very impressive. Then I took the 7 back to Times Square where I caught the 3, and made it safely out to the right stop in Brooklyn, walked to my friends' place, and lo! the key worked in the lock. I think I'm getting the hang of this subway thing. And the cats greeted me with a demand to be fed! Again! Now! Immediately! I said "Show me the cat food!" and I swear they led me to the correct cabinet.
When my hosts came home, one of the loaves of bread disappeared with great rapidity. They pronounced it good.
And so to bed, as Pepys so often ended a day's report.
New York City Adventure: Beyond Opera
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