The third one

They did not let me in! I got to the MoMa and the bitch at the door asked me for my I.D., which I did not have. I explained that I only have a passaport and I don't walk around with it in my purse. She gave me a gleeful I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep smile and asked whether I carried a copy. I knew immediately she was one of those people that cannot handle an ounce of power, unable to distinguish the spirit of the law from the mindless implementation of it. One of those who will abjectly and without hesitation turn their neighbour in if they got a memo instructing them to do so. She was clearly just enjoying her rather sad power trip. I.D. are required for age verification. I am clearly beyond the age requirement. I will soon get senior citizen discounts. Granted, I could have walked back home to get an I.D. but any desire I had had to be at the party had completely vanished. I gave my ticket to a friend, stopped at a deli and a liquor store and marched over to Ana's. The funny part was that I had lost my gloves on my way to the MoMa and when I retraced my steps to go to Ana's I passed by a large group of twenty-something playing soccer with one of my gloves.