Soul-Full Eating [antikvár]

FOREWORD"Great book!" the photographer says as he hands my portfoUo back to me. "You'd be perfect for this job. I hope we get a chance to work together." Smiling, I thank him, but think, "How many times have I heard that before?"Out on the street, a man lies in a doorway on a pile of grimy clothes. Extending his rumpled Dunkin' Donuts coffee cup to me, he says, "Ma'am, got any spare change?" I shake my head, fingering the only two quarters in my pocket, my subway fare, wishing I did have extra money to give. It's noon, and I've been beating the streets since 10 a.m. With three appointments behind me, I have four more to go, each one on near opposite sides of the city. I know, as usual, that I'll be hoofing my way around Manhattan for hours, trying my utmost to look not only good, but "perfect." Today I'm attempting it in suffocating 95 degree heat.I pat down my frizzling hair as I look at my reflection in a shop window and then proceed down the street. I imagine I'm in a sauna, paying for this luxury, as I feel a drop of sweat run down my cheek. I walk further up the block and spy a church. I feel instantaneous relief as my hand touches the long brass handles, cool as icicles, and pull open the door.An instant rush of still, fragranced air greets me and lures me into the darkened sanctum. There I sit in the candle-lit silence, and let out a deep, full sigh. I go into my own little world, far, far away from the streets of New York. I begin