That summer I was saying goodbye to the home I lived in for the last eleven years, a little row house in Brooklyn, before moving to Los Angeles. I don’t remember whose feet are in this circle. They may be Charlie, Dominic, Chris and Bobby? Joshua? Rafael, Adam, Mike? I have yet to count the feet and feel no need to identify them — that seems pointless. So many came through that house and spent summer nights in that circle or another. We joke it must be haunted now, in the best way.