Sleepy sidewalk, dappled afternoon, made edgy by heavy police presence, both private and municipal.
City Cop #1, strolling with a thin, pretty Caribbean girl. Says to her, "Alright, restraining order. I understand that. But I can't get out of my head that these are my kids I'm not allowed to visit..."
I wave to City Cop #2, Mr. Wraparound Shades. "Afternoon." Neither response nor acknowledgement, just an authoritative frown, and he continues down the block like a battleship in the Panama Canal.
Passing voices. Soft-loud-soft, with the click-clack of women's shoes.