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Jack Tuohy Murray - Minneapolis, MN (USA):

April 23, 2001:
This book is unbound, pages blowing across a sad city park, where
    on Abingdon Square we whiled away the wee hours walking talking stoned
    stumbling stalking one another through the West Village in those years.
    The late afternoon playground is filled with children, screaming loud almost loud
    enough to scare away any echo of us out of the sky.
    As always, timing was our main problem.
This book is where I keep you, where I look for you.
    I found myself wondering if you too had somehow found a
    way to survive, all these years. I forget myself sometimes, then
    I remember it is I not you who always had such trouble
    living.
This book lies open in a Greene Street gallery, where I wandered
    and waited for you. The wanting to talk to you was
    enough to make me linger in this nondescript opening, an unheard of
    artist l'll not hear from again. If you should happen to
    come looking for me, I am going now to the coffee shop
    across the street--no not that cafe but the old greek diner.
    You may remember I prefer simpler, less traveled spaces.