Havemeyer in Bloom

By Nathaniel Kressen

By the time I conceded, there were already white freckles multiplying on the sidewalks, as if in alabaster suntan. At a generous estimate, the limbs arching above the street had twenty-four hours left in bloom. The sweetness lingered in one’s nose after heading indoors, recalling the neighborhood’s savored bits of redemption in the days before gentrification. I retreated from my apartment to the financial depths of Manhattan, reluctant agenda in mind.

The old man on Liberty Street saw me the moment I entered his cavernous shop, and withdrew the Pentax from beneath the counter. “Late, this year,” he said.

I counted out the crisp bills from the ATM and passed him the sum we had established.