Two nights ago, a lull in the storm permitted me a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. I wandered up a deserted Berry Street and past the park toward Greenpoint. The trees were dark and mysterious. The street stretched before me, moonlit with a wet, hazy glow. A hush had fallen over the city, and I found that rare quiet moment when the only noise is the sound of a car's tires against wet asphalt. I love nights like that.
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