Lulu and I walked under the street lights and past the neon lights of restaurants, past the Donut Dinette, past people in outdoor seating at pubs – giddy with the warmth of the unexpected rush of a spring evening in bleak mid-winter.
Down 21st Street we walked, past the tiny ballet students, hard at work, all pink and black leotards with little froths of tutus like frosting on cupcakes. First position, second position, plie, hands on the barre, arms curved gracefully overhead. Degas on a warm February night.