I’d been down there before, sure. At one meeting in Greenpoint I’d learned about their plans. I knew November 17 was a big one. And yet, there we were.
“Miss, where are you going?” he said again. I said, “an art opening.” He said, “where”‘ and, in an uncharacteristically forthcoming mood, I told him. He knew the artist and liked her, I said I hadn’t made up my mind but she was a friend of a friend and famous enough to warrant consideration. Famous enough to warrant recognition from me and a police officer, standing together at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge just after 8pm on November 17. This is a true story: we were both wearing orange hi-vis jackets. I said, “Why did you ask me where I was going?” He said, “Because you were running.” Apparently that was enough.