2 March 2002 | Vol. 2, No. 1

In Venice, That November and December

17 cats ran in and

out windows that

never closed as Hari

Krishna jingled up

from Muscle Beach.

The house I stayed in

quieted by 4 in the

afternoon when every

one left for work. I

curled in a stranger's

yellow terry cloth

robe as if to soak up

some sun color. I

hoped I'd