C and I stepped out of Great Jones and into an astonishment of warm sunlight that feels a month early. We have just had eggs and cornbread and bloodies with Joe, Eddie and David who is now kissing us all good-bye and is rushing off to Boston to visit his boyfriend. (He is radiant with romance.) We other four head uptown and west on foot and come upon an annual event in Union Square: The Pillow Fight.
Feathers flew and shirts were damned. Pink haired goth girls sat on curbing like stoned Helens of Troy, tipping their ashes dangerously into the white stuffing that swirled aound their little black boots, while the boys mounted each other and rode into the fray with delirious battle cries.