Aaron Wolfe

I have to.

And Murray's not there, but his assistant is there.

And I can't remember his name, but he knows me because the last time he saw me, he was selling me and my mom a gravestone from my grandpa Bernie.

And he kind of squinches up his face, and he's like, yeah, yeah, Beth David Cemetery, right?

Yeah, yeah, buried near the Arbiter Ring.

Yeah, yeah, how is your mother anyway?

And I look at this guy.

He could be 50 or, like, 250.

Like...

He's never touched an iPad, you know?

And he looks like he's of this place, like he's stepped out of the fabric of this store, which is dusty and claustrophobic, and there's yellowing paper everywhere.

And I reach out, I touch, I sort of stabilize myself on a gravestone, and the granite is cold and smooth, and it feels exactly like it felt when I was eight years old in my grandpa Bernie's shop.

And I think, I can't.

I can't do it.

I can't leave this place.

Who am I going to be if I leave this place?

This is my New York.

This guy is my New York.

And then he says, yeah, it's funny you should come in today of all days.

It's really funny because Murray just sold the building.