You walk the streets among the gathering debris, the detritus of summer underfoot. It crackles brittlely with every step. The neighbors in the house next door are readying for fall: the blue steps leading down into their drained white swimming pool. Their daughter Emily starts preschool in a few days. Nick, their son, will be
I’m too much in my head. Tonight, for instance, I was standing talking to a man: good looking, waspy-thin, a baseball player type with blond hair, wire rims. Told me that he was going off to Yale divinity, and that intrigued me — that contrast between the physical and spiritual. High in a corner of
Standing there as gorgeous as a man can be, the man I’d seen so many mornings on the train dressed up in business suits and starched white shirts now wearing crumpled tennis shorts, a sweaty Harvard t-shirt, stopping off to buy a few last-minute things at 9:00 one humid summer evening; glancing for a moment
