Yves BowThe sound of two Alka Seltzer tablets, dropping into a thin glass, coupled with the pregnant silence of a black silk bow, wrapped around one's neck like a loose, self imposed collar. The fabric looked like dusk, and held a certain reserve, like lips parted in hesitation, or a neat stack of playing cards. A bit like ink on wet paper; an absolute refusal to be contained, or even totally known. They put it on for the party, but decided not to attend. The