A young wife with short red hair stood on the balcony across from mine. I knew she was young because of the resilience in her smile. The New York smog washes that away after time. A gray morning but not too cold, I bathed myself in morning glow - hot coffee in hand. A professional camera could have claimed the right angle, had I the face for glamor. Alas, I push brown glasses on the bridge of my not-quite-symmetrical nose to glance at a dog taking a shit in the middle of my sidewalk. Such a lovely Labrador. Such a lovely hand holding the leash. But a momentary lapse in reality, and she’s gone. “Thank you. For nothing,” I yell. That’s the third time this week. The moment is a lovely thing. I turn back to my red-headed neighbor. She turns to close the door. End moment here.