Rod Townsend (aka our commenter Momo), sometimes receives telephone calls from The Past, a mysterious entity that remembers where things used to be in New York before Starbucks and Whole Foods came to town.

"Hello? Who is this? It's six in the morning."

"Sorry, molestiemouth, am I waking you up?"

"Well, no. I'm actually on the way to the gym and having breakfast."

"Jim is such a d class name... but hey, I'm eating too."

"Nice. Nothing starts my day like a protein bar."

"And nothing ends mine like moules frites at Florent."

"Ends yours? Dude, it's Wednesday morning."

"Which means I've been getting cracky at the Jackie Factory. You know, Johnny and Chi Chi's party down in the Meatpacking District? Anyway, we were all having a blast. The dress code was 'Klingon Women,' but I just went in a classic code futuro-leather thing I had sitting around. We all left and were whooping it up in the streets with this awesome trannie Iswalda who's always checking the door at Jackie, but won't come in because she doesn't want to lose any business. Eventually someone was all like, 'Is anybody hungry?' and we all laughed for five minutes and then paused, and then someone (I think it was Flotilla) was, like, 'Yeah,' so we all laughed another five minutes as we paraded over to Florent."

"In the Meatpacking District. Yeah, I've been there."

"No way. You've actually heard of something that I love? And you've been there? You sure we're talking about the same place? The little bit of awesome over on Gansevoort between Washington and Greenwich? Sort of makes a triangle with Mother and Mineshaft down there?"

"Well, I've never heard of Mother or Mineshaft, but, yeah, I've been to Florent, just not recently. That neighborhood is just so..."

"I know, I know. Edgy. But you have to get past that smell of putrid blood that permeates your skull. And keep in mind that the prostitutes are actually kind of fun if you give them a chance. Basically you have to live a little, spermycheeks. Think about it. It's sort of a perfect destination after a night out. Suddenly you're in this dead quiet area away from all the hype, away from 'the scene.'"

"You're not understanding me. It's just that the people there..."

"The people? Well, let me take a look around. Ha. HA! There's Patricia and Rebecca Field. There's that new writer with the crazy nose and his bitch model girlfriend. Oh, and there's that new designer. What's his name... Perry Ellis just fired him?"

"Marc Jacobs?"


"I don't have a problem with any of them. It's just that the place can be overrun with kids..."

"Oh, I can understand. Richie Rich and Kenny Kenny and that wacky James St. James— double-named menaces all. But I haven't seen any of them eat there in ages. Hell, I haven't even seen them eat in ages. Even if they do show up, the staff keeps them under control. The waiters and hostesses and counter guys—I love them all. Don't worry, Darinka will keep you safe. Writers and actors and artists and drag-queens and whomever the hell else Florent sees fit enough to serve up the right food with the right 'tude."

"Well, I have to admit Florent Morellet is the Mayor of the Meat Market. He's a doll. Everybody adores him. He's a giant among men."

"Well, maybe if he's wearing heels. But, hey, sisterfriend, my moules frites just got here. Have fun with your blue-collar trade, 'Jim.' Talk soon!"