A new beginning. A sky scraped clean.
A man in a tie and shirtsleeves is sitting on the steps of a brownstone on 74th street, a briefcase between his knees, his head thrown back.
At first I think he's having trouble breathing. An asthma attack? Then I realize he's laughing, laughing silently, uncontrollably. Laughter like a nosebleed. The kind that just won't stop.
Somewhere far off I hear the sirens approaching. Someone must have called the cops.
I'd better get out of here before things turn beautiful.