Life Is Nice Iii Poem by Morgan Michaels

At the mention of the name, Donnie felt comfortably assured he was talking to a member of his own generation- his intellectual generation- the generation to which all others must be compared. Of her physical time-niche he was fairly sure, already. It was important. Between the generations- the biologic ones, that is- there is a gulf as wide as that between Dives and Lazarus, nigh impossible to cross or understand. One never feels really comfortable among the members of any generation but one's own, ultimately. Not really.

'But I'm going to visit a sick friend in Inwood- never was there, before. Is this the right way?

Donnie grinned and shook his head.

'Sorry, you can't get there from here'.

She thought about it for several hundred milliseconds, then smiled.

'Guess 'm outta luck. Well, here's your card. Be seein' ya.

Suddenly, Donnie wss reluctant she should go.

'Say, would you like to have lunch sometime- like this Saturday'?

'Oh, I don't know. Where'?

'Well, they have a pretty good cafeteria at the Modern'.

She laughed.

'I know'.