I’d seen a kiwi there a few months earlier. “It was the size of a chicken,” I said as we walked into Barneys, “mounted on a thin plank of wood with its head lowered just slightly and this beautiful, delicate beak about four inches long. I asked the price and learned it was the equivalent of ten thousand dollars. ‘It’s a hundred years old,’ the salesman told me, which I guess makes sense, but still.” “That’s when you should have snapped the beak off and asked, ‘How much is it now?’” Amy said.
