Sensuous

1 June — Tuesday

Another month.

Nothing I feel much like writing, actually, but it is another month, the First of June, and it seems somehow essential to celebrate the fact upon this poor unfortunate typewriter. A happy First of June to you, Smith-Corona Electra 110. And many more, if I don’t pound you to pieces before another June First rolls around.

June.

About as good as months normally get in this city. June and October are usually the best months. June is sometimes too hot, but if every day is like this one no one will dream of complaining. Temperature around 65, less soot and crud in the air than usual, and the sky (visible, for a change) had a distinctly blue cast to it.

I like New York in June, how about you? I’m not sure I actually like New York in June, but I like June in New York. June and October, with a slight nod to October, but since June is here and October isn’t, let’s forget about October. New York in June and a Gershwin tune and ice cream and motor trips and how about you, anyway?

Actually everybody prefers October, but hardly anything rhymes with it. Except sober, which is less than a dynamite word in a song, and which is what I will cease to be if I have one or two more drinks, which I intend to have as soon as I put this drivel under the radiator cover. If winter comes, can spring be far behind?