And in the night sky, the soaring sopranos fly out over the city, guarding it with song, catching the souls of those rare, lovely heart-thinkers.

I hope you were right," he whispered. "I hope there's beauty in my asymmetry." "You weren't a nuisance," he continued, his words growing louder in the cold, snowy silence. "You were the Northern Dancer, sire of the century, the superest of all racehorses.

You and Victor are my North, South, East, and West. You are my Due Everywhere.

Consider this: billions of people in the world, each with billions of I ams. I am a quiet observer, a champion wallflower. I am a lover of art, the Mets, the memory of Dad. I represent approximately one seven-billionth of the population; these are my momentous multitudes, and that's just for starters.