We've been spending time on the roof—a safe way to get outside. I went up at 7 last night to clap & hear the clapping, & to see if there were lights on in the buildings around me (plenty). Someone boomed out Frank Sinatra singing "New York, New York," the version the Yankees play when they win. This city that never sleeps at night is uneasy in its insomnia & nightmares. I almost can't remember what it's like to shake hands or hug or talk to a hostess about getting seated or changing in the locker room with a bunch of karatekas. We are suspended in a surreal city, right through the very heart of it.