My friend Steve Weinstein came to visit me in a small but comfortable apartment where I was living in a city. I hadn't lived here long, but I already liked it quite well.
Almost immediately Weinstein began cleaning up the apartment. He quickly went to a desk and began arranging things in the top drawer. At the same time, he tracked his black boots on the blue carpet. But I didn't say anything.
I thought a bust was in one of the desk drawers, and on the floor next to the desk was a painting of a man wearing a small hat. It appeared to be from the time of the Renaissance, but I didn't much care for it. I had a much prettier picture on the wall, and I wondered if Weinstein had noticed it.
I noticed some papers which Weinstein took from the desk. One contained Spanish and Latin words and apparently was a list of foreign words which I had been learning. I thought at least Weinstein might have learned something from my lists while he had been cleaning up.
Another paper was a hand-written letter in French which I wanted to send to a woman who used to teach me French. One page contained a list of books which I was sending to her. I didn't know if Weinstein had seen the list.
Finally I decided to help Weinstein. I remembered that Weinstein had visited me once before and had done the same thing: cleaned my apartment. It didn't bother me because the apartment needed to be cleaned. But it still seemed a bit strange.
I looked at the floor in the kitchen and it appeared dirty. I wondered if I had tracked up the floor when I had moved it, but I couldn't remember.
I was walking along a street in New York City. Weinstein was with me and he began talking with another man (perhaps 25 years old) whom Weinstein knew. The other fellow was very tall and quite handsome. He suggested to Weinstein that Weinstein accompany him so that they could do something together. Apparently he, like Weinstein, was a writer. He mentioned something about a furniture store which he wanted to visit. I didn't know how anyone could live in New York City and still have money with which to buy furniture. He must have been rich. Finally both of them left me without saying anything. But I wasn't upset, and I knew Weinstein needed to go to work. As Weinstein left, I noticed he appeared to have gained some weight in the stomach.
At my side was a slightly overweight woman. She knew Weinstein and began talking about him. She said he lived in a good section of the city which she called the "arts district." I agreed that there were many artists in the section where Weinstein lived.
I thought I was close to Wall Street. I tried to see the street sign, but I was unable to read it.
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