Today, my two better halves are far, far away (and without both my halves, where does that leave me??) Alex said "hajimemashite!" to Tokyo yesterday morning, and as I type this I imagine Dagmar is snug in her little cabin with a big ginger cat named Kingston and Berserker the attack rabbit curled up at her feet.

Dag's visits to New York are few and far between, and usually end in her vowing never ever to return. Which I can respect. But this past fall we spent a giddy afternoon at the Met, wandering sleepy eyed and soft-footed from room to room until, fifteen minutes before closing, we burst back outside into reality and the rose-gold rays of late October sunshine. Last year I spent Valentine's Day getting tipsy on Champagne and then grinning my way sheepishly through a guided tour of Picasso's sculpture at the MoMa. This year I'd be happy to settle for a waterglass of Gato Negro with my dude, my lady, and me.

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