May 2009
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Brooklyn
I watch a lovely squirrel with matted grey hair scamper up the fire escape below me, with a wedge of knuckle-round food clamped in its teeth. She comes up the steps warily, cautious. Eyes me as I drink whiskey and water from my glass. I admire her tiny beauty and shivering tail, notice the tousled swirl of fur along her side. I smile when she’s eye-level. For a moment I fear a defensive...
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