Walking along Fifth wondering if I’ll see Warhol on the street again. It’s New York in the eighties. I step off the curb, feel a breeze, a shock of yellow. Tires squeal. A cabbie yells at me, races off. People are frozen, staring. Apparently, I was nearly killed. I’m fine. I’m not fine. I lean into a building. A young woman in a baseball cap appears, open face, round eyes, her hand on my back. Sometimes you can have a delayed reaction to these things, she says. I start to shake and turn away. I look back, and she’s gone.
Bill Lattanzi is a video editor/producer and writer living in the Boston area. He weathered the eighties in New York.