WHISKEY AND CIGGARETTES

I was dancing when I first noticed my former paramour. He was standing alone, a glass of whiskey in his hand, surrounded by a joyful crowd. He watched my friend and me, abosorbed in our dance. He was facinated by our complicity.

He looked to me like an elegant extrterrestrial casting a delighted but somewhat perplexed glance at the earthly specimens. His body, bent slightly forward, as if he wanted to give us something, or perhaps catch something we might have.

Leaning against the wall, we discussed how people who leave their homeland also leave their frame of reference. And other global topics..He was an amusing mystery to me, and I entertained a desire to see him again..two weeks later he showed up on my doorsteps to bring me a book he thought I should read, shah oF shah's, by the polish journalist RYSZARD Kapuscinski, about the last shah of Iran and the events leading up to the 1977 Islamic revolution.

When he left I curled up with the book, and I became entranced. I had never read such orginal and vivid free-flowing journalism. That sonny so loved this book-and thought I would love it, too.-made me think. God, we really do have something in common. What it was I couldn't yet see. But it was strong..

From the very beginning of our relationship we wrote handwritten letters. And after I read the book..I reciprocated with a letter. I told him about the pope's visit to cuba, I wrote to him about the extradionary cost of meat in cuba, I discussed the rare gift Cubans have for savoring the present in spite of everything.(I had been reading a book on cuba.) I also told him I would like to see him again.

And so, We made a date!!

The following morning, at 8 o'clock, my door swung open to recieve sonny, He greeted me with a giant smile, then ran straight to the kitchen, where he extracted a bag of half dozen eggs, a jar of sun-dried tomatoes, onions, a pair of red peppers, and spanish blood oranges. Hovering over the stove, Sonny was like a conducter directing a symphony. His hair stuck straight up from the effort and the heat. Still grinning, he handed me a plate, upon which he lay his steaming masterpiece. "here it is," he announced with a flourish of unbounded pride. My kitchen was in a state of chaos. Speechless, until then. I burst out laughing.

Early in our relationship, Sonny decided it was his duty to provide me the precious black nectar. He knew how much a good cup of coffee improved my mood. I discovered sonny love for keeping lists, he wrote all kinds of lists..like cool things to like about bombay India, Things to like about Germans..And so one day I discovered he had a list on me..My pride was singed. Did he need to be reminded what I was about? But he explained that if he kept adding to the list by the time we grew old, it would become a epic ode to the woman he loved..

I'm not entirely sure why I'm thinking much less writing about all this..maybe it's time for a little self reflection..but the rest of the story is my business not the New York Post's....!!!!