Night Falls on Cobble Hill

An Asian woman, so old that her skin looks like crumpled leather, runs in place in the middle of Court Street. As cars approach, she jogs over to the curb, then back out into the street once they're past.

A couple old Italians sit on lawn chairs on the sidewalk, watching.

"She's been goin' for half-an-hour," says one. "I'm gettin' my exercise just watchin' her."

"She's gonna get herself run over," says another.

Out in the middle of the street again, she runs and runs.

Further down Court, Spider-Man walks down the sidewalk, his pudgy belly rounding out his costume, waving to passers-by and stopping briefly to chat with the guy selling ices and the people having dinner at tables outside the cafés before continuing on. He comes even with me on the opposite side of the street, and as I turn down my block, I think about giving him a wave, but I don't, and he walks on, going to wherever Spider-Man goes when he's done with the day.

This is Brooklyn on a Sunday evening.