After my breakfast with Sean Howe at Shopsin’s Saturday morning, and a brief visit to the Museum of Comics and Cartoon Art, I headed north for lunch with high-school friends at Nice-Matin, proving along the way that I am no longer a New Yorker.

First, I mistakenly took the 6 train to 77th Street, ending up on the East side rather than the West side, which meant I had to hike crosstown through Central Park. A pleasant walk amid the falling leaves, but still …

And then, after I came out of the park at 81st Street, I was so turned around that instead of walking two blocks south to 79th Street as I needed to, I walked two blocks north and wondered why I wasn’t finding the restaurant. Eventually, after much bewilderment, I realized I was on 83rd Street.

East, west, north, south—they were all blurred together. I guess when I trekked to New York this time, I left my mental compass home. So I got to the late lunch later than I expected.

Here we are at the other end our lengthy lunch which was so engaging it ran until what should have been dinner time: Donna Grant (the best-selling author), Mark Diamond (the lawyer), Barry Chaiken (the doctor and vintner), Marc Frons (the journalist), and me (whatever the Hell I am):

If you’re in the mood to, you can see what four of us looked like one year ago when we had our first mini-reunion. Not much difference, eh?

But to see what three decades does to people, check out the pictures below from my high-school yearbook, taken back when we were all writers and editors for the South Shore High School newspaper, Shorelines (click to view at a larger size):

That’s Barry, me, and Donna along the top row, and Marc and Mark in the photo beneath it. Amazing how little we’ve changed, right? (That’s your cue to say, “Right!”)

As for the rest of the evening, the less said the better. Due to a signal outage on NJ Transit, my 43-minute trip from Penn Station to Metropark took three hours and six minutes! No details, as I’m trying to forget the experience. (Just like I’m trying to forget the two middle-of-the night fire alarms that woke us at the hotel Saturday morning.) Even so, it was worth the effort to break bread with friends both new and old.

And that’s likely it for me and Manhattan until next October when I tag along with Irene to yet another New Jersey Romance Writer conference!