I have a 100-year-old therapist Is there a better person to get help from, who has seen and done it all? With his museum of a mind and wealth of experience, I am both tourist and patient I love it when my up-in-arms anger issues take a pause and he talks about his life, in years so few talk about anymore When he shares the unusual things he’s done, history comes alive, artifacts and old photos come alive on the streets of Manhattan I much prefer a tour of Bernard to

with my toe I nudge a carpenter bee, black, on its back and not moving Jose the neighbor passed recently and his jungle is dying too, its large shadow still lush, but limp my dog Gracie and I hug it, before we turn right onto a short street with more superb shade the next two lefts are hard on Gracie the brightness on her cataracts so bad she bucks and stumbles till we cross back over to Jose’s shade for the straight dark shot home Jose’s partner said he stopped water

try to imagine, all the white-celled nurses and clotting doctors that rush to a wound, arriving on a subway of blood equipment in tow to restrict blood flow, inject platelets, spread a liquid that scabs, lay down a collagen mesh, knit new skin we’d be in big trouble if they went on strike over low wages, poor working conditions or overtime – hell, they’re on call 24/7! today though, they couldn’t help my big toe to those Lilliputians, it would have appeared like an ov