It happened every single day in Brooklyn: awaken to fresh glory, fall asleep to blight and ruin.

My sudden, unforeseen capitulation had knocked me backward, and I had nothing to hold on to. My internal weather was eerily calm, as if in a tornado’s aftermath, birdsong, sunshine, supersaturated colors, wreckage all around,...

Friendship is a strange animal. It only thrives in voluntary enjoyment of each other’s company, in the pleasure of nonobligatory connection. I repeat: You owe me nothing.