“Moonlight and Clear Sky, the Fundamental Things
I had my first date with the woman who would become my wife in a rough little art bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, back when the neighborhood had hipsters but no mustachioed ones, restaurants but no difficulty getting into them, cheap rents but no condominiums.
Nights were quiet, the streets empty. My date and I drank beer, talked, drank beer and talked some more, then found ourselves at midnight walking along the deserted beach that used to have its entrance through a cut in the fence at the end of North Seventh Street, west of Kent Avenue. It is a park now. Then it was a trespass.
We walked the shoreline in silence, with the inky, terrifying blackness of a flooding East River beside us and the sparkly crown of Manhattan rising up across its swift currents, sodium lights from the Con Ed plant on 14th Street on the distant bank like jewels at its base. The sky was clear and there had to be stars up there somewhere. We were absolutely alone, in the midst of a wild and crowded metropolis.
We sat on a low concrete deck, feet scuffling in broken glass and sand, small dice of asphalt, shredded trash. We began to talk again and did not stop.”