Rick: That was very touching. But how do you keep the two sensibilities in

your mind at the same time–the love of New York City, and the stuff about

laurels, maples, colt’s foot and asters?

The true New York City sensibility, I had always assumed, was closer to

Alexander Portnoy: “Whaddya mean, what kind of tree? You mean there are

kinds of trees?” Or Dorothy Parker’s lines on Spring: “…nasty little

birds yapping their fool heads off, and the ground all mucked up with

arbutus.”

(Though now I come to think about it, little Alex grew up in Newark. Same

sensibility, though.)