Vish had pored over the map of the public transit system online before settling on a route he thought would work, and even then he wandered through residential neighborhoods for a couple of miles, consulting the little map he’d printed from the MTA’s website and trying to find something that looked familiar from the time he and Troy had gone to Ridpath’s barbecue. He didn’t have a phone number, or even his full address. He remembered the nearest major intersection, he thought, and he hoped he could navigate his way to the right house from there. After a few wrong turns, he found the place, a cute two-story cottage in dusty blue with cream trim. There was a lemon tree in the front lawn, graceful and fragrant. He rang the doorbell and heard answering barks. Ridpath had pugs, two of them. A man’s voice spoke something unintelligible. The barking ceased. The door flew open. Ridpath, shirtless and glistening, grinned at him. “Vish!” “Hi, Ridpath. I’m sorry to just drop by like this.
