While my friend shops, I step out onto the back patio of the grocery store in Red Hook and sit at a table beneath the shade of a large umbrella, watching the sunlight glitter on the water of the Buttermilk Channel as giant container ships slowly crawl into port in New Jersey.
A guy at the next table asks his friend, "What do you think is behind the clouds?"
A long pause, and the friend answers, "Well, like, space."
"No," the first guy says, a hint of lazy frustration creeping into his voice, "I mean behind that, man."
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