After walking home from the West 4th Street Washington Square Subway, I unlace my combat boots and kick them off, first the left, then the right, and with two consecutive clunks, they land loud against the seventies-style parquet floor. Distracted by daydreams of what tomorrow holds, I sit down heavily in my favorite cowhide tuxedo chair to roll a joint. The setting Sun draws sharp amber and red shadows across the courtyard apartments on Barrow Street, and from my perspective, enveloped in the waning evening sunset, only the brightest celestial objects can be observed by the naked eye.
That"s precisely when I spot Jerome in the yellow, lamp-lit windows of his apartment across the way. I break apart the fragrant grass until my fingertips are sticky, pinch the joint paper between my thumb a
