Mature maples line the sidewalk; neat little apartment buildings stand in the shadows, their walks lined with bright annuals and ferns. He feels refreshed here, protected from the sun by large leaves, enlivened by the dampness of the grass. These few blocks south of Denman are a part of the city that isn’t quite city. This is a place that blurs the line between merely surviving in a humid, outgrown mill town and really living in a place that coddles you with gentle sea breezes until you fall asleep.This damned city, in Danny’s experience, is often both at the same time, in the same place.He turns right and starts to cross the street, mindful of the mothers taking their children to the beach, mothers whose ears and eyes are trained on the hungry, whining children in the back seat and not on the men in the crosswalks. A blue sedan speeds past and a face turns to look at him from the back seat. He flinches. Maybe he isn’t as invisible as he thinks.In the window of the diner, he sees the back of Frank’s head, the collar of his blue-striped T-shirt.
