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August 9, 2013

Yesterday morning it occurred to me that I’ve been in NYC 15 years this month, more then a third of my life. Later in the day I read My Awesome Place,  a memoir by someone named Cheryl Burke. We both lived and drank in the same bars on the Lower East Side and in the East Village and Williamsburg and must have passed by each other a few times. She’d left her crazy working-class Jersey family and moved to the city to be a writer (and to be comfortably bisexual), got a little scattered and grew up and got sober and fell solidly in love and died at 38 from the medicine that was treating her cancer. Her friends, Sarah Schulman among them, published her book.



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