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Later, conversation becomes brusquer, summarizing that days bit of plot.
Some wear caps with brims that cast an LED glow over their faces.
You are being passed along a conveyor belt of narratives.
Some perform in Spanish, others in Chinese, many in accents of disparate origins.
I used to hammer my own meat hooks when I first opened the shop, were told early on.
Watch the night come in.
But once your body is tuned to the pace and the vibe, it comes across patches of magic.
In the passageway beneath a building that straddles the park, voices blend in churchlike splendor.
Later, they rise up like steam through the grates beneath your feet: Amber will you marry me?
someone down there asks, and you may be tempted to say yes.
And then you reach 34th Street and the city closes in, clangorous, hurried, and profane.
