Dave Raphael

I spent an afternoon with Arno a few weeks ago, aimlessly strolling de Pijp, shooting a couple rolls of film.  We settled into a bar in the Heinekenplein to discuss lifestyles of the rich and famous, living in Germany, Men’s fashion magazines (or the lack of many exceptional ones) and, invariably, reflecting upon relationships of all sorts.

A wise man once suggested that wisdom is best discovered through reflection.

her first cigarette

after coffee,

was one to remember.

and we celebrated with lunch in between the thunderstorms that have defined the Summer of 2009 in NYC.  Not quite the drama of the Summer of Sam, but we’ll take whatever identity we can grasp in NYC these days, or at least, so it seems to me.

Ive been working hard on my expatriate status, she on her law degree and well, we both had some tales of adventure to share.

I had traveled East across the ocean to sit along de gracht on top of bricks that had been packing the sand behind the dykes since 1600.

She had driven West to sit under the low desert sun on rocks that had be silent there since, well, the dawn of time.  Or whatever fantasy number carbon dating assigns to these matters.  Scientists measuring time should pause to consider that the world was once flat, and when it was, certainly nobody was wrong about the possibility of sailing your wooden, mutiny laden mess right off the edge of it.  Sometimes its suffice to suggest that rocks are just old and sometimes I digress.

The last time I saw her, I was rightfully distracted by her eyes.  The time before that too.  This time as well.  Im hoping that surprise doesnt wear off anytime soon.  Surely, there are people who eventually grow bored looking at De Nachtwacht but Im hoping there will always be some new angle to see in large things.  Or in the light reflected off them.

Soon enough, the surface of Northern Europe and The Great American Southwest (coincidentally not terribly far from Nye Valley) played itself out and welcomed that wonderful awkward silence that prompts the real nitty gritty.  While we both sat coyly twisting our bits of hair, the check came and leaving behind a map scrawled on a napkin written in ink designed for NASA, we headed out into the rain.

We wandered around in the shadow of the now forgotten Filmore East, echoes of an amplified tale of The Edgewater Inn and images forever frozen by Jim Marshall until the anxiety of missing a transcontinental flight grew from slight procrastination, skipped game of chance entirely and went straight to pressing matter.

And it is always then: in the rain, at shift change, lurching towards the standstill of rush hour when you are about to miss a flight, when you need to get a cab the most.

Shortly, she would be gone and soon enough I could count on finding myself standing in the street wondering if that all just happened.  Suddenly, swiftly…again.

There is probably some wisdom in appreciating the freakish good time in small doses, really small doses, but Ive never been fond of goodbye’s, especially not just after saying hello.  And there she goes…

LUH lived happily ever after.