I'm in NEW YORK CITY. Brooklyn to be exact. Fort Greene to be even exacter. I'm here for the week. Getting ready for the reading of my new play and just immersing myself in some real deal East Coast magic. It's weird. Every time I visit NYC it's as if I never left five years ago. I fall right into the groove. New York City has the effect on people: the ability to embrace you, slap you, kiss you, lick you, get sick on you and remind you that nothing else in the world will love you quite like it does. And of course you fall for it each and every time.

I'll leave you with this: last night I had dinner over some friends, and after the amazing roasted chicken and South African wine and an episode of Lost, I was told this crazy story: The couple in the bottom apartment had a cat. One night they called my friend Natasha crying and weeping because the cat had died. It was 3 am, but Natasha went to them anyway 'cause she's sweet like that. When she walked into their apartment, the couple was standing there in pajamas holding a cat that had already reached rigor mortis—it was frozen stiff. Then the couple asked the cat to kiss Natasha goodbye. Natasha did not kiss the cat goodbye. She just smiled and went back to her apartment where she washed down with CLOROX.

A few weeks later, the couple asked Natasha if she would check in on their apartment because they were going out of town for a few days. She did. And one day she was getting some water and decided to chill the glass with some ice. When she opened the freezer, guess who.... ? Right. The cat. Frozen inside a plastic bag and looking right at her. When she casually mentioned it to the couple upon their return they said they were keeping the cat frozen until they were able to make a trip out to their sister's to bury the cat in the sister's catnip garden.

That was three months ago. The cat is still in the freezer. You got to love NYC.

Until next time,

Keith