Is it freedom or love that you pray for in your guttural accent? Too late—long gone

spatch told me the news about the synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh.

Tonight is my family's annual Halloween party, the fiftieth since my mother carved her first pumpkins on the floor of her grad-school apartment in New York City. I don't know who'll make it through the nor'easter which is currently turning our street into a river, but we'll be there.

I wish every observance of time these days did not feel like still here, damn it, still here, still here, still here.