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Greetings from exile.
Owing to a little financial setback (as in, losing a month's rent when my magazine folded) I'm not PNing until further notice. But that won't stop me from giving you dear, sweet people the pleasure of reading my words. I know you love me even as (if not especially as) we are apart. I will show you my love through my letters, as Abelard to Heloise, as Giorgio to Clara, as all of those CIA agents and flight school instructors to Condi Rice. This Valentine's Day, even if no one else loves you, even if no one ever will, I am here. Or, rather, elsewhere. But thinking of you. In the collective sense.
It's all right. I will pause here to allow you to regain your composure.
Tomorrow, while I'm off loving you from afar (and various and sundry others from a-near), you will drink at The Falls, which should be a nice change from all that sake I hear you quaffed last week. Spacious, comfy, located in that SoHo/LES zone that people find inexplicably convenient, and not bad on the food, wine or beer menus. Yes, this place has everything. Except ME.
See you there! Or not.
-Mike and the Triumvirate