Leaving Bendix on 1st Ave Tuesday night, we were hit with the drifting smell of burning. Yup, occasionally that smell gets up here still - 3 weeks later, and my pal had just tried to reassure me that I wasn't being too unreasonable by not being ready for a resurgence of uniform fetishism. Not to be judgemental, but maybe it's just a bit different here in Manhattan, when you still see the cops guarding the power station on Ave A, you still remember the face of the cop who told you to "get home safe, buddy" after another night of aimless, drunken bike riding, stumbling into the Frozen Zone, hoping to see some great rescue, but only seeing clouds of soot rising, and weary cops trying to stay alert, and looking like anything but. While the parks have cleared most of the candles, the Fire Stations still have reminders, street lamps still have tattered "missing posters" and folks are still down there, finding more remains, diligently pulling them out, doing their jobs....... Gosh, I enjoy sex as much as the next guy, have longed for, and occasionally found, a brief escape there. But I guess it's just too soon to turn these faces that you want to hug, and kiss, and nurture, back into some ol' sex object.

Yeah yeah, I admit to having given that look to everyone in uniform lately - the "thank you, I'm so sorry, we're with you, need a hug?" look - cops, firemen, ems workers, postal employees, Kmart security guards, yuppies with blue Oxford shirts............. ah, shut up, beer is 2-for-1, get out of the house, fetishize some alcohol....