In Times Square, the most crowded and distracting spot I can think of to hide, the parallel Avenues of Seventh and Broadway are black and slick. The snow stopped, but left a layer of ice. The sun is strong, bouncing off of the polished pavement and the wind is bitter and strong. The tourists are ridiculously happy. I huddle in a corner near the entrance to Toys ‘R Us. There is something uncanny and otherworldly about these people. They smile and wander and do not notice me. They are chatting, and the children are missing gloves and eating pieces of Hershey’s chocolate. I hear snatches of conversations: lunch plans, museum schedules, stores to visit. I’ve slipped into a wintry little bubble, absolutely separate now. I imagined, incorrectly, that being in a crowded spot would take me closer
