Just three hours earlier, congregants shopping the boutiques in SoHo
crammed the streets like an ice flow.
Now, at 8 p.m., the darkness of January blankets the empty streets and alleys.
The stores still glow, but vacant. A cab rolls by here and there, thumping tires on the rough street. No lurking villains, but does that mean anything?
Through the slippery frozen streets of cobble, stepping on sloped steel basement doors, drawing too much attention to ourselves as our shoes rattle the metal.
We want to become invisible in this vacant, cold blackness.
So on one can find us.
We move along quickly, avoiding a slip that would send us sprawling on the hard sidewalk.
Still floating from the excitement of the day, the night in this neighborhood drains it out.
Our hotel is still five blocks away.