Donna and I arrived a few minutes after six. The evening—the physical manifestation of July 17th—was wonderful. Mid seventies, straggly cloudlets in darkening blue sky, a pleasant breeze. Early for the usual nightlife that flows up and down Park Avenue on a Friday night, but there are a few folks choosing restaurants. There’s a custom glass shop across the street, customers still perusing.
I’d changed clothes twice, trying to decide what level of chic or cool I wanted to reach. Had to wear the hat, the Bogard, which Donna had made me buy several years back and which I love.
Only the owners are in the Gallery as we step through the door. …