I’m in the burbs, though not by choice, sitting in a backyard surrounded by grass and bugs and sunshine. My son wings by in his electronic car with the neighbor’s kid riding shotgun; they’re screaming happily and trying to run over the dog. A bee roughly the size of a small airplane buzzes close – reminding me of my plans to pave over every square inch of the yard and build a subway station under it. God, to show His mercy, has kept me within radio range of the city so at least I can listen to the Mets.
If only every suburbanite wanted to pave their yard and build a subway station under it... must be a New York thing.