Boymeat had told me that he was waiting outside the museum. I got there but didn’t see him. The line snaked around 88th Street and I followed it. I got on my cell.
“Where are you?”
“I’m right outside! Where are you?”
“I’m getting on line.”
“What line?”
“Wait! What museum are you at?
“MOMA.”
“Oh, we’re at the Guggenheim.”
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