>Cue the saxophone...

It is a few minutes before one when I step off the subway, yet the 72nd Street platform is full of people waiting to get home or to their late shift at work. My raincoat flaps in the breeze created by the train as it roars out of the station, and the odor of unwashed bodies fills my nostrils. I look for the homeless person(s) responsible for the smells, but the only people I see are "regular" folks like me or subway workers climbing onto the tracks in their neon orange vests, lanterns in hand.

As I exit the station and walk through the deserted plaza, where just a week or two ago an evangelical cult tried to teach me about the dangers of temptation by waiving free granola bars in my face during the morning rush hour (I took one, but I stored it in my desk drawer, in case of an emergency, so take that, missionaries!), I heard my name. "Good night, Suzanne!" I looked up from the stone pavers and smiled at the doorman from my building, heading back to his family. "Good night, Felix."

In the few blocks to my apartment, I passed a ConEd crew entering a manhole, workers at a corner bodega bustling to arrange bouquets of flowers, and a short man in a puffy coat walking a tiny dog with pink ribbons. Upon entering my building, the night security guard greeted me. "You been gone since I saw you this morning?"

"Yeah, it's been a long day," I said and we grinned.