Back to it… with more than a little anticipation, urgency, anxiety in the air. We got off the ferry, returned to the tiny apartment, opened the windows, unpacked our bags and then set back out into the unusually light September dusk. Lists of foods, deadlines, cleaning supplies, events and evenings filled my head (vertically, like a Dave Barry column on the left-hand side of the “Times” “Metro” section). The end of the summer, the eve of the “first day of school.”  

The “Associated” is packed with NYU freshman anxiously checking their back pockets, making sure that their wallets are secure as they shop for cereal and red meat. We push past the piles of oranges, the gleaming strip of potato chip bags and overpriced beer and try to seek comfort in the monotony of late Sunday domesticity. Tomorrow Jamie will begin at “Daniel.” Tomorrow I get very serious about my book. Tomorrow we turn in pages of our book. So much to do without the reassurance of hot summer nights and the belief that August will go on forever.

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