On 50th Street, near the flow of tourists, I take a picture of myself and send it to Peter, Yuli, Greg, Matt, Seamus, Clay, Alexi, Roland. I haven't shot a good photo of myself in months, but I look beautiful today and the sun blocks most of the wrongs on my face. A man texts back: Good morning, gorgeous boy. Another: Tell me a secret. I think of a secret and crave a safe, private room to sit down in. I start to walk home before more replies come. In front of a diner, I try to take one more photo while the day is shining and kind, but I already look different, squished now, like a pane of glass has begun to push on my face. The sun is no longer on my side. I send the good photo to Jeff, Jay, Brian and retreat home at top speed....
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