Dear Friend, I like to start my notes to you as if we’re already in the middle of a conversation. I pretend that we’re the oldest and dearest friends, as opposed to what we actually are, people who don’t know each other’s names and met in a chat room where we both claimed we’d never been before. What will NY152 say today I wonder. I turn on my computer, I wait impatiently as it connects. I go on-line and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You’ve got mail. I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you.
