In which the furs and I arrive safely in NYC and are given a room with a splendid view. I immediately unpack the furs, which traveled all smushed together in a surprisingly tiny and surprisingly light little suitcase. They immediately fluff up and seem completely fresh, as if they’ve had a blowout in a salon. I’m amazed by their flexibility and resilience. They seem rather unfazed by the whole journey. I’m almost questioning whether I really wish to part with such magical items.
Also, I can’t stop sitting in the dark staring at the view. I probably should remove the furs from the shower curtain rod, take a shower, and go to bed. The martens are looking at me impassively with their little glass eyes, as if to say, we’ve seen a lot in our lifetime and none of this is that impressive. But come on, martens! That view!