I walked down Bleeker Street last Saturday night. There is a little Italian place I love.... and I walked down Bleeker Street after a lovely meal of clams and pasta. It was dark, as dark as an early summer evening gets in the West Village. I was on my way over to Ty's and a piece of old newspaper came blowing down the street, guided by the mystical currents of air that only old God himself can blow. I stopped and said out loud: "Hello, Jack." I could smell him in the summer night, and I longed for just a fleeting materialization of his handsome and sweet face.