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everything was filth and poverty. Horribly crippled beggars and some who seemed to be diseased, perhaps dying—though both the city and the federal government have socialized-medicine programs. (Well, it’s no secret that the hospitals are over-crowded, and it’s hard to get a berth if you don’t belong to one of the Lobbies in power.)
    It is all so strange. I feel more alive than I ever have, but at the same time intimidated and frustrated that I only have a year here. I could spend a year in New York City—in the museums and libraries alone!—and not come close to seeing everything. Yet in a few months I’ll be running desperately around the world, for a 75-day course in “cultural relativism.” Then there’s the rest of the States to see, and the two independent states, if I can get safe entry into them (though most people seem to think that Nevada is just a bunch of thugs and anarchists, and Ketchikan nothing but a racist farming commune). All the while studying. At least I don’t have to write my dissertation until I get back to New New.
    I’ve begun a diary but it seems inadequate. It feels like so little time here, I hate to waste it keeping records. On the other hand, there’s so much input I can’t trust my memory.
    Must run. Give my love to Daniel and keep some yourself, Quasimodo.
    Daniel dear,
    Just a note to let you know I’m getting along all right. Will write in more detail after I’ve sorted out my impressions.
    It looks as if I might as well have vowed a year of chastity, for all the bright prospects here. Most of the Worlds people here are stuffy academics. (Except for two Devonites, and I’ve had my fill of that particular dish.) The New Yorkers are, well, creatures from another planet. What about you? Going out every night with that littlepeeler from the Light Head? (Don’t do it; that type is invariably frigid. Besides, she’d sag in high-gee.) Or did you think I never noticed the way your attention wavered when she was onstage?
    New York City is all you said it would be, and more. All the little things you must have always taken for granted. Coins! My pockets are always full of them (doing wonders for my voluptuous form) and I can’t add them up fast enough to tell whether I’ve been given the right change. Those miserable little aluminum dimes. Half the stores won’t take them, and the other half shovels them at you in change.
    But I’m loving it. Every day is a big vulgar epic. School starts tomorrow, and already I begrudge the time I’ll have to spend studying. Though it will save money—at the rate I’m going, the hundred thousand they gave me wouldn’t last four months (I could always get a good job on Broadway, with what Charlie taught me).
    I hope your work is going well, and hope you’ll eventually come around to our way of thinking as to its importance. Though I suppose this experience is going to make me less of a separatist. Or maybe more—I had a terrifying experience on the subway (went to 195th by mistake), and suppose there will be other shake-ups in store soon.
    Wish you could be here to show me around. Maybe soon. Let me know how your rotation schedule works out; I may not be in the U.S. if you come back too soon. But love will find a way, as the salmon said.
    I have a picture of you by my bed, the flying one you said you liked. Another picture when I close my eyes, that might embarrass you, but which has its uses. Love:
    Charlie,
    I just wanted to write and remind you that I’m not in New New anymore. I’ve come to Earth for a year, mostly school.
    The address on this ’gram will be good all year, though I’ll be traveling around. Yes, I’m living in old New York, and a stranger place you’ve never seen! It’s something like Devon’s World in its decadence (look it up, lazybones), but it’s almost all buildings and streets. Do you remember the pictures we looked at? Well, they were taken on a “clear” day. You only get pictures like that after a