I live in Brooklyn. By choice. Those ignorant of its allures are entitled to wonder why.

You can’t give your heart to a wild thing.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

Are the dead as lonesome as the living?

So the days, the last days, blow about in a memory, hazy autumnal, all alike as leaves: until a day unlike any other I've lived

To wake up one morning and feel that I was a last a grown-up person, emptied of resentment, vengeful thoughts and other wasteful childish emotions. To find myself, in other words, an adult. Truman Capote

She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.