Theo crossed Astor Place onto Fourth Avenue, enjoying the ease with which he navigated these streets, so much less crowded than the Upper West Side, where he lived. The last time he’d been to Book Row was six months ago; he’d ridden the subway downtown from the Bronx when the Yankees had just beaten the Boston Red Sox to win their thirteenth game. He hadn’t worn a suit and fedora, as he did now, but chinos and a leather jacket, his Yankees cap covering most of his thick dark hair, his lean figure making him look like one of the athletes he’d just seen at the stadium. He’d played baseball through college and supported the Yankees since boyhood, when he’d gone to every home game with his pop, and the win that day had felt like a good omen. He’d proposed to Virginia that same night. He still felt like the luckiest man alive that she’d said yes, and while he had business on Book Row he also wanted to get a special birthday gift to give her that evening.

He walked briskly, overtaking the taxicabs and buses that were bumper to bumper beside him, dwarfed by towering office blocks and three-story brownstones. His smile broadened at the thought of seeing Virginia and of her soon becoming his wife. Passing carved stone entranceways, he strode under striped roof canopies, avoiding the rows of wooden bookstands and the metal fire escapes that zigzagged up to the clear blue skies. “Mrs. Virginia Bloom,” he muttered to himself. The words had a special cadence.

The view up toward East Thirteenth hadn’t changed since he’d worked there as a boy in his parents’ bookstore. His father had hawked copies of the classics, while his mother had done two-bit haircuts in the back when business was slow. It was then that he’d read anything and everything he could get his hands on, which accounted for a lot. Not only did it help him academically, but his popularity grew as he was able to answer all his peers’ questions about girls—as well as the usual popular and rare books, there was always plenty of anatomy and erotica on hand.

When he neared the corner of East Eleventh Street, Theo caught the aroma of chargrilled meat as Tony’s Deli came into view. Just along the street the Brussel Brothers bookstore greeted him with its familiar grids and squares, its rows of shelves backing onto the front windows. Ike and Jack Brussel had been trading long before and after Theo’s parents. Ike was a bear of a man who talked with his hands, and he wasted no time jumping up to hug Theo as soon as he walked in. “Good to see you, buddy,” he said, releasing him and gripping him by both shoulders as he looked him up and down.

“You too, Ike. How ya keepin’?”