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You know how sometimes you're eating a carrot muffin and you're thinking, "holy mother of christ this is the greatest muffin I've ever had the privilege of eating," and it's all going along fine and well and you think you're probably going to finish it off instead of leaving a couple scraps behind like you usually do out of guilt or shame or some other things your therapist is helping you define? And then, just as you crack the bottom – because fuck that shit of course you're going to eat the top first, especially when it's one of those crunchy tops encrusted with large sugar crystals that wink back at you when they catch a sliver of light – yes, just as you get to the soft bottom and you're wondering if maybe you should just throw rules to the wind and get down with your mouth and belly and greedy hands right on this beautiful muffin and, my lord, why is the bottom so moist – that's when you realize the source of the moistness and possibly the source of this well-above-average-tasting carrot muffin is, in fact, a secret piece of fresh plum baked right within. Your eyelids flutter a little bit and then you just want a 3-ton safe to fall on your head so you can die right here and now, inside a perfect moment, without having it compromised by smelling hobo pee or hearing a taxi horn bleat or seeing a Puerto Rican guy grab his girlfriend's arm really hard or missing a train or getting the train and finding it crushed with people or any of the million other details about New York City that lie in waiting, set like traps designed to sabotage your nice day.

You know how that happens, with the muffin and the plum and the inverted death wish? Well, that's what my morning was like. And this is just to say I'm sorry I bought the last carrot-plum muffin which was sitting on a tray in a coffee shop, and which was probably intended for you. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, OK? You'll have your carrot-plum muffin, too.

WE FIRST MET ON 08.11.2004

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