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The coffee shop on Noe Street where I go to “write” has the same bathroom graffiti as the Hungarian Pastry Shop in my old neighborhood back in New York. Earnest Bush jokes, missed connections, and bad philosophy. This coffee shop, however, has a dish of condoms in the bathroom. I preferred the Hungarian’s chocolate eclairs.

Unlike the Hungarian, this coffee shop has free wireless. And electrical outlets. And according to my computer’s little scanner, there are two other nearby wireless accounts; “NoePlaceLikeHome” and “Surrender Dorothy.” If you can’t guess the neighborhood, well, there’s really no hope for you. People here take their Oz a little too seriously.

So, one month later, I haven’t missed New York once. A couple of New Yorkers, well, yeah, okay, twist my arm. But the tornado seems to have dropped me off in the right place.

And that’s why you come here: for my stunning metaphors.

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