1 August 2005 (yesterday) (tomorrow)
I dragged four bags up the stairs, knocking knick-knacks over in the process. Louis was awake. He said he had a bone to pick with me because I hadn't said goodbye to him when I left. Then he told me that a new guy had moved into the back room where Mike was before and then died. Apparently he O.D.'d on booze and painkillers; they only found out he was dead because of the smell.
I went to the tailor's, but on the way there I realized I had no underwear on so I wandered up and down Smith Street, thinking that one of the two big drug stores would carry underwear (they didn't, and the guy at Eckerd's seemed a little creeped out when I asked).
I finally found some at the army-navy store that's still in business for some reason. They let me change in their fitting room and then recommended a good Dominican tailor to me down on Pacific.
At the tailor's, I made small talk with a man with a leathery face and a huge mustache. He complained about the rising rents in the neighborhood, and pointed out the storefront across the street where the rent, he said, was now five thousand. He said only restaurants could afford to move in.
While I got my pants altered, one by one, I realized that I could understand a lot of the spanish they were speaking with each other. The man with the mustache was telling a story about a guy who came up to him in the street, saying te conozco, I know you, you came over to my house twenty years ago. The man with the mustache was like, all right, so you know me.
Finally my pants were chalked so I walked down Court to Scaramouche, where I had a lively conversation about Buenos Aires with Gabriel, and gave him the DVDs and Grace games I bought him from Musimundo. His grandmother, who is 93, became alarmed at my gesticulations and toddled over to find out whether everything was okay.
Mr. White and I drank lots of Fernets and cokes and then went to Wasabi for sushi, where we drank far too much sake. When I got home I threw up and slept until noon tomorrow.