You know, I’ll never figure it out. It’s like one of those… standing out in the middle of the street at midnight, rain pouring down, watching her walk away kind of thing… a real, “New York City in the middle of the twentieth century,” setting, maybe all in black and white for that extra touch. That’s what the feeling is, anyway, something you remember but never know what exactly happened. And things have that habit of going on, continuing even when no one really knows why, sometimes not even how — for sometimes it is in its blindness that a thing’s strength really is. Even now, even in these days, there are things that stay a mystery, and a reverential hush still spills over into a child’s eyes when the wonder at the unknown takes hold. And the feeling that such things are meant to be that way — it would seem that no amount of science will ever silence that kind of sacred touch to those rare moments that yet come along. Yes, even in this now, of the ten minute (ten second? race to be cynical?) obsolescence.