We thought it was the MTA tower on fire but it looked much more blacker. Everything looked more blacker from that instant except faces that condensed smiling and laughing out of the smoke. That was when flaming skyscrapers were a kick; we were almost giddy to have something fresh to discuss in parking lots, patios, and on long, straight avenues whose ends now compassionately smudged away. Later, in beds under open windows, we could smell the char of what had been the paralysis of the space between us all. We still were not free of course, but at least uninhibited.