We go down to the river because everything flows away from you, and all the streets are rivers where you live; even the wind is a current of water swaying the branches of august trees, back and forth, slowly, as if they were seaweed.

"Tell me who you like."

She said "Sylvia Plath," and quoted "The eye of the blind pianist"

At my table on the ship.
He felt for his food
His fingers had the noses of weasels.
I couldn't stop looking.

"Who do you look at?"

"Diane Arbus - I find her very intimate ... and tragic."