I’m sitting on the front porch of a farmhouse with an older Englishman. We feel a signifigant amount of love for each other, that might possibly lead to a relationship. I lean my head on his chest, but a certain something hinders our expression of affection for each other.

We’re waiting for a yoga and writing workshop to begin. Several others are there waiting too. But it turns out there aren’t enough rooms for all of us, so some of us will have to go elsewhere.

We go to New York, to stay in a tiny apartment down the street.