In November, the gingko trees on East Eleventh Street are even more thrilling in the dark than in the day.
Lit by lamplight, they glow while music plays from the windows of the music school. Usually violins or piano.
I remember walking down this street years ago, when the streetwalkers used to stroll and ask for a light or the time, then ask for a date. I lit their cigarettes and looked at my watch. I never went with them.
Walking under these trees today makes me think about those girls and wonder where they are now.
There's something arresting about these golden gingkos. They make you stop, look up, and be still.