A Time to Scatter Stones

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The four of us — Kristin and Mick, Elaine and I — stood on the stoop of their brownstone for the ritual round of hugs. Mick and I settled for a manly handclasp.

“Safe home,” he said.

It was a crisp Sunday night late in September, the sky free of clouds, and if we’d been in the country we would have seen stars. But there’s always too much ambient light in the city for stargazing, and I suspect that’s also true metaphorically. Ambient light, softening the darkness even as it prevents our seeing the stars.

Mick and Kristin’s house stands on West 74th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam. It’s on the south side of the street, so when we reached the sidewalk we turned to our right and walked the half block to Columbus Avenue, which magically becomes Ninth Avenue when it crosses 60th Street. Under either name, the thoroughfare is southbound, and there’s a bus that would drop us right across the street from our apartment.

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