The Neander Ifrit

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This may be a long sort of letter, so sit back.

New York (to start where everything starts) is a very strange place, and commuters like you never really get to know it. The place has everything, including a pile of stories that are flatly unbelievable; if I told you about Little North Evans Boulevard, for instance, you’d accuse me of inventing the whole thing, and there are even people who refuse to believe that there is a spot in Manhattan where Waverly Place crosses Waverly Place and goes charging off in all directions, as the man said—and they can see that one for themselves. All you have to do is find Sixth Avenue (which is easier to do if you remember not to call it Avenue of the Americas) and where it crosses Waverly Place walk west along Waverly, and when you come to the old Infirmary you’re there. The sight left a permanent neurosis in an old friend of mine, I’m afraid, who happened across it one very drunken night.

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