It was a clear day, but the October sun had yet to warm the bones of Crosby Street. Its old paving stones and brick buildings were bathed in shadows, and the chilly air that had blown in the previous night from the East River lingered in the narrow confines. Still, once he’d pulled his peacoat a little closer and adjusted to the nip, Karp breathed in deeply, savoring the day’s freshness. Gotham City’s best in autumn, he thought. The ripe smell of the city that permeated July and August, and even warm Septembers, dissipated on the breezes that blew more frequently and cooler in the fall. He thought he could even detect salt air on the wind. In the parks, the oaks, elms, maples, lindens, and hundreds of others he couldn’t name but enjoyed just the same were putting on their annual color pageant. A stroll through Central Park was like walking inside a sunset, surrounded by splashes of reds, oranges, purples, yellows. On Saturday, he’d watched his twin boys playing football on the fallen leaves and thought, Life truly does not get any better than this…a perfect day—well, almost.
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