At another point in time we all lived in New York and we tumbled about with our brand new paychecks and our freedom loving lifestyles and our misperceptions and our unshakable sense of novelty. Our aspirations were shallow, our talent high and our wallets only fat enough to support an unprepossessing agenda. We all lived in that moment; breathed that moment; the legend of Mike was born in that moment. The neighborhood's changed in the way that trannie neighborhoods change. People did flit in and out on their way to supposed art stardom, or corporate stardom, or lifestyle stardom. People did drink too much, snort too much, fuck too much, stare at the computer for a little too long. And now I look around and everyone's gone, whether they've left or not. The other day I saw Mike outside of the coffee shop. Then I saw him walking down the avenue, then I saw him outside the grocery. Three sightings in one morning. Pretty good. He's moved a few times. Shacked up a few places, found new corners to haunt. He says he may head to an apartment in Chinatown if the drunk realtor ever checks his message machine. Apparently the guy doesn't have a mobile phone. It's always good to see Mike.