I had an early breakfast yesterday at The Carlyle, sitting at a banquette next to an ex, an old friend, who stays there when she's in town. The food, what I had of it, was uninteresting, but the decor was lovely and the clientele nicely dressed and very well behaved. I passed: white linen drawstring pants from French Connection and a dress shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up two turns above my wrists; I looked like a man who doesn't need to wear a suit. Facing out into the room I watched the servants come and go, and the tall and very pretty teenage daughter who walked by our table one too many times. I'd noticed her before so that was fun.
Afterwards we walked down Madison as it began to rain. We dipped into a store to buy a pair of rain boots, another to buy a pair of socks, and another to buy an umbrella, which was small, and since I'd left my own at home and my bag is waterproof, I walked alongside my ex, chatting and getting drenched. We walked slowly. On 72nd I exchanged a smile with a handsome blonde, who was impressed that I seemed to have accepted my fate, but not so much that I would not still smile at a passing girl.

The morning was a very pleasant lie.