I wished I’d told Uncle Ned that the hours for the tutoring school were earlier, but if I’d done that the meeting would have gone on all day, and Uncle Ned would have wanted to have known why I was late for dinner. Not that I was in any rush to get back to sit around admiring Sinclair’s perfectness; but in New York I didn’t have any place to be, I just had to hang around. I went over to Sam Goody’s on Third Avenue, which isn’t too far from Grand Central, and looked at records for awhile, and then I decided to go down to the Village again, to see if I could get into a game on the West Fourth Street courts. But nobody I knew was playing, so I watched for awhile, and then I just sort of stood there, trying to decide what to do next. And I was standing there, when I saw the woman who was subletting our apartment come down West Fourth Street onto Sixth Avenue, and go into the liquor store. I was kind of sore at her. I knew it was unfair, she couldn’t help it if she sublet our apartment, and I guess if she was paying for it she was entitled to mess it up if she wanted.
