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July 27th, 1982
Tonight I went to a concert in Central Park with Ellen and her British friends, Alf and Jill. It was a beautiful concert under a steel blue twilight rolling with thick dramatic clouds. We had a deli-style picnic, stretched out on a sheet that Ellen bought at Gimbel’s this afternoon. The concert ended with the 1812 Overture— with booming cannons and a fireworks display that was magnificent.
I went to great effort to get in touch with Joe— hoping perhaps we could arrange to meet. I left word with his mother that I would call at 7:30. When I phoned after leaving the park and walking blocks to an available phone, his mother said that he had already left and to tell me that he would be wearing a purple shirt.
250,000 people and he thinks I will find him.
Poor, stupid little man.
Obviously, he’s not been to any of the cultural activities in Central Park— like me and all my cultured, educated, intellectual friends.
□ Asshole— stop beating yourself up. You think it was a stupid thing that he did. And it was. And it does offer a pretty good clue that he’s never been to an event at Central Park.
□ □ Oh shut up and go to sleep.