“I know I shouldn’t feel happy,” she says. Jessie sets her macramé pocketbook on the front seat next to a tray of hotdogs from Gray’s Papaya. Kirby pulls away from the curb before Jessie even has her door closed. Jessie does as she’s told-Kirby’s back seat is as big as Grand Central Terminal-but even so, the cars lining up behind the LTD start honking and someone yells, “Move your tush, sweetheart!” “Just throw your suitcase in the back seat.” She has done a fair amount of studying in the park while she’s been in law school and she’s seen it all: punk rockers with purple hair and pierced lips walking their dachshunds, drag queens eating knishes, a couple painted gold who set a boom box on the lip of the fountain and discoed to Chopin’s Polonaise in A-flat Major. Reed must have been talking about Washington Square Park in this song, Jessie thinks. Jessie Levin (“rhymes with ‘heaven’”) is drinking an ice cold can of Tab on the northwest corner of Washington Square Park when her sister, Kirby, pulls up in her butterscotch-colored Ford LTD with the sunroof open, strains of Lou Reed floating out like a haze.
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