Midnight at Giorgione: flourless bittersweet chocolate cake with a quiet candle for a late birthday; gorgeous bosc pear stewed in rum and honey; a perfect latte; cheeks warmed by wine; pointy pink shoes; Schmio's red tights; gleaming white cracked tiles; toasty glow from the pizza oven; scarlet lucite hearts on an elastic band.

Then: waiting on the subway platform with Barbie, a hillbilly girl and a hillbilly boy, an Airborne Express package, a pimp, a soldier, fangs and fake blood all around. God bless the F train, I shoulda taken a cab.

Back in the hood, twinkling pinpricks of stars against a perfect blue. Brooklyn, love.