Hester Street meant that one bodega that had those good sodas, the fancy ones that cost $3.75 that you’d buy two or three at a time. Hester Street in June meant that one pizzeria that had that two slices plus garlic knots and a can of soda deal (but not those good sodas) for $7.50. It’s all hazy now, like that entire summer took place in one afternoon. I just remember the way you looked in your yellow and navy dress, stepping out of the bodega on Saturdays with those sodas in a paper bag: sunglasses over your eyes and the sun of the city held like some secret miracle in the palm of your other hand, just waiting / for what . . . to be opened