In the morning my father had a few hours before he had to return to Stamford. We walked down West 23rd Street, and from a sidewalk vendor he bought an old coin. “I will always remember buying this coin with you,” he said, and I felt so glad that I’d been able to take days off from work and be with him. Whenever I walk on that block now, I see us under the white sky of that August morning and I think, This is where my father bought the coin. It is like a memory we own together. I have the tails side of it, and he the heads.
