Just got back from dinner with three San Francisco pals: Christian, Michelle and David. In various ways we all go way back, but the connecting tissue for most of us was Philip. Tonight was the first time that we’d all been in the same room since his memorial service, I think. And yet the evening was much more about the four of us, our interests and achievements than it was him. The affection was palpable. We had superlative thai food in Woodside, at the place that every one seems to know the name of, the name that I now can’t recall.
I say San Francisco: it’s where we all know each other from, but none of us live there now. We talked about moving back and whether we ever would. For me, I know I never could. I’m past the age where it would feel like a new possibility. It would be confining, a weird settling for a past far too frayed to recover.
In the picture is my new copy of my friend Lynn’s new novel. You need to go out and get yours. And if you haven’t read her last one No Lease on Life, you should. It’s one of the best New York novels ever.