Almost no one knows that Jonah Lehrer and I had coffee together last week. He was passing through Rochester attending to certain details of his father’s estate and wondered if I could break free from the massage clinic at around 3:00 for a latte. I did.
What’s new at the massage clinic?
Very little. I got some new Peruvian woodwind recordings.
Cool. You always use woodwinds?
Yeah. Brass doesn’t work too well. I tried.
Jonah laughed at this.
How are things in New York? I asked.
Pretty good. They’re doing a lot of construction where I live in Prospect Heights. Kinda sucks.
Do they have a dog park in Prospect Park?
Off-leash areas, I think.
That’s nice.
Yeah, my friends with dogs love it.
So did you drive here?
Flew.
That a rental car?
Dad’s car. He’s not using it anymore.
I was relieved we could joke this way.
Jonah and I made several seconds of eye contact and the milk in my latte developed a skin. I broke it with my spoon and raised my eyebrows, looking up at Jonah.
I guess if you leave it sitting there long enough, he said.
Yeah, I said, smiling.
Jonah went to the airport at around 5pm and the sun set behind him as he flew back to New York, watching, as he did, patches of snow-covered farmland give way to cul-de-sacs, ribbons of concrete, and tall buildings underneath the airplane.
Alex B. Fine 