L-C and H-E

H-E, a matronly but not maternal nor ethernet eternal, woman, had seen the child L-C curled up and sleeping on the extravagantly heated sidewalk in front of 9 East 71st Street. No blankets. All the heat was radiating from the cold, cruel, and I would say masochistic, sidewalk– of New York:

Down in front of Casey’s old brown wooden stoop
On a summer’s evening we formed a merry group
Boys and girls together we would sing and waltz
While the Guinea played the organ on the sidewalks of New York

H-E was a sentimental woman, a romantic, a full-blown romantic. She was such a full-blown romantic it was remarkable she’d not contracted full-blown AIDS.

She was exceptional in wondering why the romanticism of the romantics didn’t extend to actual children.

Back inside 9 East 71st Street the romanticism of the romantics did extend to actual children, in the form of pedophilia.

Pedophilia is a serious crime, as is the sex trafficking of children.

These ideas of romanticism repelled H-E. They repelled her out of 9 East 71st Street, out to where L-C was napping. H-E was glad she had gotten to L-C first. L-C was adorable. Plus, L-C was exposed. Plus L-C was defenseless and vulnerable. L-C had no resources.

In front of 9 East 71st Street, L-C was close to, among others, the UN building, and Broadway. There was that one great story where children spend the night at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This was to the liking of both L-C and H-E. (It was sad when it was made into a movie. Or a docudrama.) This was all in Mannahattas, which is cool. How dang many cute kids had hustled through this almost at sea level storm tossed as long as it is not global warming lost or mired in the garment distict, of swaddling clothes? All resources, especially the modern ones, the Gugenheim, with public toilets, and the museum itself shaped as a toilet, of the American variety, circa 1950’s, ring around the rosey. When H-E lifted up L-C, and she was scurrying, it reminded L-C of a rodeo event, with H-E a blessed cowgirl.