The Petering of Out
Sep 1, 2018 · 4 min read

Sandy, she says, “I haven’t felt this way since 1993,” as she arranges her blowsy grey wig in the wind. “I love the craggy grandeur of this godawful place…as long as I keep a polite distance from it. I can’t even get you to be in my dreams anymore.”
She glides and smooths her hands across the stone of six florid Corinthian columns that run along the sidewalk beneath the old Stock Exchange Building’s peaked crown. She closes her…

