“In the open sky above the hushed streets, the moon was a porcelain plate on a black table as I walked home. A breeze raised the collar of my jeans jacket as I sliced through the silvery silence, past unlit buildings and quivering trees and cars idle by the curb. The air felt like glass. I crossed empty corners under the mauve light of overhead lamps.” Night SkyWalking AloneAtmospheric WritingBrooklyn At Night Book:Outerborough Blues: A Brooklyn Mystery Source: Outerborough Blues: A Brooklyn Mystery