The sun was out behind the clouds, and the buildings, cast in relief by the filtered light, were sharper than normal. The texture of the stones was heightened, and to see a brick was as good as touching it.

I bought some fruit and sat in a park - I don't know its name - the park below the Brooklyn Bridge, with the WWII memorial. I read a book by B. F. Skinner but gave that up to my lap and watched a Korean woman in a leg cast throw a ball for her mastiff, an endless loop of throw-chase-return, the dog in ecstasy, the woman cheering it, mocking it.

Taking turns tending their infant, a man and woman played volleyball with another man and woman, in a game that never began; the ball was only returned once out of every 10 serves, and then it would launch up 30 feet and fall far from the net. Someone would laugh and chase after it. Once it nearly brained the baby. I finished my pear, and walked the one or two miles home.