An Open Letter on a Yellow Post-It Note to Christo & Jeanne-Claude

I have been to Central Park five times in the last two weeks–as much as in the past two years. I have rendezvous-ed with distant friends, presumed or perhaps wished dead, from seemingly previous lives; met their spouses, children, and pets. The walkways in the park have been as crowded as I have ever seen them, including in the summer during concerts and political marches meant to give gays the feeling that they are here and the rest of us should be getting used to it. Elsewhere in the city, the sidewalks are echoing with the words “brilliant,” “saffron,” “nylon,” and “stupid.” Also, “total waste of money” is heard a lot, but that’s just me mumbling to myself. I have run out of room to write anym

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