A tourist boat made its way back to Manhattan, though it was a bit late for tourists. Perhaps it wasn’t a tourist boat, but one full of children on a school trip. I could be their attraction. “Look! A sad Brooklyn man,” their teacher would say. “Let’s cheer him up!” The children would wave and clap. Maybe the boat would sink, tipped by some inexplicable whirlwind. The parents of those dead kids would think it a bad prank when they received the news because it is other children who die, never your own. They would sue the boat company. They would sue the school. They’d hire divers to make sure
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