There is a spot on the bridge I take into my city where I can see the skyline, and I blow my city a kiss there, and often I say something like, "Hello, my pretty pretty city," in a very soft voice.

I also greet a friend of mine who has died when we pass a park along the river where we all once had a perfect picnic in a light autumn rain. I feel like there is a piece of him still there in some sense, so I say, "Hi, Mike," when we go past, and sometimes if I am by myself I tell him what stories I have written that he might like since I have last been that way. (This is probably hubris considering which Mike he was, but he was also my friend Mike, so.)

Also there is a long story about Teddy Roosevelt's birthday.