Not smart enough, though. I stay on the opposite side of the street, half a block back, matching her pace. She never sees me.
She takes a left on 72nd and heads into Riverside Park. That surprises me. It’s getting dark and cold, not exactly prime park-going conditions, so I figured she was headed to dinner somewhere. But she keeps walking along the path, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, breath coming out in small, white clouds.
The park is mostly empty. I fall back farther, using the trees and the dying light as cover. She doesn’t look behind her anymore. Whatever alertness she had on the street has drained away. Her shoulders are down and her pace has slowed to something that barely counts as walking.
She stops at a playground.
It’s one of those newer ones with the rubberized gr
