I am freezing. I've seen a thousand lawyers today, and they all seemed like the same guy, even the women. I spent the morning at the Queens County Civil Courthouse, but not on a case of my own. The tiny old woman who lives upstairs had a housing case, but she was too rickety and unfamiliar with New York to go on her own. She said, "Every place looks the same, I can't tell where I am. I am a stranger here." Her son is away, and last year when I wasn't feeling well she hugged me and made me love her, so I had no choice but to take her. It was almost interesting, and now my signature is on a slip of paper somewhere at the courthouse. That kind of thing always strikes me as odd, the little bits of ouselves we leave in unexpected places. My name on a sheet of paper in a stack of papers with other names on them, all waiting to be thrown away. Afterward I took her to her apartment and unlocked the door for her (she's never going to get good at that door), and she thanked me so hard and tearily and sometimes it's difficult to convince people that you really don't mind doing things for them. Some things are easy, and there's so much that's not.

Now I'm waiting to hear from Michael. We have egghead problems. I want to stay home tonight, but it's finals, and our team is a bit short. Anyhow, I'm quitting Pete's, so I should say goodbye to Cape Cod and Carl, say goodbye to the worst sink in the world that stole the best ring of my life. Afterwards I'm coming straight home, and if there's a transit strike, I am not going anywhere ever again until it's over. It's too cold anyway. I've got bread for toast and plenty of tea, so long world. I'll be in my bed watching the rest of Bleak House. I'll miss you, but not for a while.

Holy cow, I almost forgot! There was a parade down my street the other night! Down my tiny one-way one-block street. I was staring into my eye in the bathroom mirror, looking for an imaginary eyelash, and I heard singing from outside. I opened the window and hung my head out and there it was, a marching, flag-waving, mystery parade. I think the flags were South American, but I don't really know what was going on and I don't want to. Mystery parades are the best kind. There was another one, a different kind, at the beginning of summer, but I don't think I wrote about that here. I think I had another place for it then. Anyway, the next time I see a mystery parade I'm going to run downstairs and then follow it. Casually. "What, the parade? No, I just happen to be going this way." I'm going to find the mystery parade headquarters and it will be the best place anyone's ever been.