Fifteen years later, New York has changed. The twin towers no longer fill the view when you cycle down Fifth Avenue or rollerblade toward Downtown beside the Hudson. The East Village, Alphabet City, and the Lower East Side have gentrified. The Williamsburg Bridge has been repaired and now leads on both sides to neighborhoods inhabited by trendy young people.
That month, November or December, I had actually decided to end it all. I had Betty’s revolver there on my right, I would look at it from time to time. I won’t forget that black stain in the drawer, the window open onto the wet courtyard, the narrow, badly furnished room, the obese, senile landlord coming in to shout in my ears, every other day, that I had again forgotten the light when I went out.