Postcards From Home
IT'S not enough for a native with leisure time to kill in his city simply to sit at home, idly leafing through back issues of the renovated New Yorker magazine in search of Talk of the Town items about the fire at Windsor Castle, Aintree's Grand National and other Anglicized stretches of the meaning of Gotham. Baaap! goes the apartment buzzer, down goes the magazine and the outside voice on the intercom should have been enough of a warning to get out into the city, get busy: "Hello there, my name is Sydney, and I know you weren't expecting us but we just dropped by with a question. Do you think the earth just got here by accident or is there a purpose behind it?"