You know those Mead Composition books? There is a fragile almost birdlike lady who scribbles in them, literally scribbles round and round, with worn colored pencils on page after page. Over the last 15 or so years I've seen her a couple of times. Once in Room 117 at the New York Public Library. Once on the L train and once sitting at the bar at the Viand on 61st & Madison. I've always wanted to take a closer look at the notebooks, but when she catches me peeking she always closes them a bit and brings them tight to her chest. She wears dark catlike sunglasses so you never see her eyes and bright red lipstick. I passed her on the street today near Church and Leonard, two composition books under her right arm, pencils in hand, walking like she had somewhere important to go.