We are having a long, looping discussion with glasses of wine and a view of the Hudson River. A turn in the joking and laughing and I look up to see the sun lowering a bit, still clutched high in the teeth of stepped skyscrapers. The conversation turns again, and this time the sun has dropped to hide its face behind the mantilla of trees. Later still and the ferocious orange light is flaming a little girl sitting at another table, the sun is about to slip below the water line, but not without turning her into fuzzy pumpkin first.

I have stayed too long, but I float out into a beautiful night with the streets of Tribeca filled with people, spilling over sidewalk cafes, chatting, smoking. Two men on one corner have made each other laugh so hard they are staggering, throwing their heads back, their teeth shining. I turn the corner and in an unlit entryway I see a well dressed young woman, stacked around her feet are the large plastic covered trays from a catered party. She is chewing vociferously, more food clutched in her hands, her face aimed into the darkness, away from the street.

I head to the subway, to Brooklyn, to home.