Steeped

We're on the island. Can we make it a stoop night? And whatever plans I may have had, none of them were worth more than drinking bubbly on the Morton Street steps in their company. I brought the ailing dog, several flutes, and we moved onto the sweltering street. Neighbors pass through our setup, some I have known for years and some are so new I can't tell them apart. It occurs to me that I have lived longer in this apartment than any other place in my adult life. It's too soon to say what that means.

They count down the days to departure. We stare into the West Village nights and smile, ignore the numbers in our head.