by Nathan James Fireworks crackle over Bronson Park; the crowd hoots. You mention your toes are numb despite your shoes, so we walk hand-in-hand to a booth and I buy you a warm brandy. I say: We're standing on the rim of a century. Your reply—Two centuries—is tinny, dressed
 in blue. I think: Tonight is … Continue reading Eau-de-vie, New Year’s Eve, 2000