Was it Auster or Ames

I went out to Cobble Hill recently to look at an apartment. Actually I went out there that day to check out the street the apartment was on. I was going to check out the apartment the following day. Also, it was a beautiful day and I was hoping to read a bit in cobble hill park and absorb the presence of a few literary minded young females who were always out there. as i was standing on the block in fron tof my potential apartment building, I glimpsed a coveed up figure lurching himself down the street opposite me. immediately i had hte instinct it was Ames. the writer Ames, with whom i was somewhat obsessed. my newest literary hero. i knew he lived in the area, and from a novel of his that he wore sports jackets daily. and the newsboy cap. all in the heat of early june. ao i hougt i'd follow him. i had a raymond chandler book with me--inspired to read through a marlowe story by Ames in his latest novel I finished. The same one with the sports jacket story! I had to tail him. I managed to stay a good 15' beyond him at least. down we went over to clinton from amity and took a left. i stayed close but not too close, a good 15' away. he made it a block or so down amity until he turned into cobble hill park. conveniently, my destination as well.

i followed him, and veered to the right of the entrance as we walked in. By then I was maybe 10-12' behind him, feeling much like Marlowe and nothing like Marlowe I traced his steps. Actually i was nervous that he would see me and ask why i was following him like a starstruck pathetic coward. but i managed to stay back enough for him not to see me. he walked around the little grass hill, past the benches, and into the back area near where some playground equipment was set-up. and sat down on a back bench with a bookcourt bookstore bag and looked out at nothing in particular. close by, a mother was playing with her child on the swings. i sat down on the hill next to a semi-circle of girls with some sort of irish, english, australian accent, and pulled out the Chandler. Ames wasn't doing much and I didn't think I was going to glean any great insight from watching him stare off into the late Spring air. I started losing concentration, and was more paying attention to the breasts of the accented girl next to me than Ames. I made like I was reading, getting a few words on occasion, but mostly smelling the air, feeling the sun and staring at breasts and legs, which had shoved their way out of shortened filmy skirts and t-shirts and blouses. they talked of weddings in Europe and getting smashed and staggering and of planes and meetings in Berlin. But they were clumsy and brutish and I got tired of them, even if I couldn't stop peeking over my pages. Finally, I got to reading reading reading. back into Marlowe. back to Ms___. and back to the sun on my face.

Within a few minutes I loked up and saw Ames walking toward me. I had missed him getting up! As he moved closer, he seemed to be staring right at me! Then I realized he was looking at the Marlowe and a slight smile opened up on his face. I thought again about following him, but by then I had blown it. And anyway, I lost the urge for the adventure. It had dissipated somewhere between the sun and the breasts. I sprawled out, book in hand, and listened to the elated accents and tasted the dirt on the lawn.