P and I walked around Green-Wood in the afternoon, where we saw an egret and waxwings and bullfrogs and the burying ground of Boss Tweed. It was a mild day, activity-wise, but for some reason I slept like a boulder. I'm not sure why I was so tired. With Ray gone, there is no more perpetual beer, no more ridiculous too-late dinners, no more listening to one album after another until 4 a.m. Instead, I ate tacos and drank an horchata and dropped into bed like I'd been felled. Life has become staid, and Brooklyn has become almost restful.