I know only this: The hot sidewalk on the Lower East Side on a Friday afternoon did not bear down. Nor did the long, congested walk to the subway or stifle of those tunnels. Nor did the weight of the backpack or the foolishness of the turquoise sandals or the mistake of the missed stop which added another trip in the reverse direction. Nor did the converging avenues of chaos of the city or the whamming pace of its natives or the menu at the deli that left me dizzy. None of it could touch the halo of good fortune twinkling under the day's grey sky. I know only this: To be loved in the way you love. Her face peering back at mine, a gaze so steady I thought I had found the secret to end all war.