Mashed Together in Chelsea

Passing the cell with a face full of cordon bleu, I saw Paul and he flagged me down. Originally from Texas, lived in NYC 8 years, then jumping out to take care of horses in the high desert, he'd transferred himself all over the States already. As we walked toward the subway together, I told him about my project, and we exchanged emails; I'd just given my last two "Please May I Paint You" cards to two ladies from the presentation at Cue. Paul crossed the street, and was gone as quickly as we'd run into each other.

Famished after the workshop, I'd gotten my sandwich at Hyper Deli on 23rd Street & 9th Avenue along with 2 Baci chocolates and a Mash drink. As I took a swig of lemon/ginger, I mused on how I'd had my first taste of Mash in Chelsea, and how those two things would be linked together in retrospect: Mash = Chelsea.

Just like Paul and I - and every other art-lover in that New York neighborhood who has ever had an unexpected hello and rapid goodbye - mashed together, then drained as quickly as a thirsty draught.

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