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All these out-of-staters driving in with cameras and thermos bottles and you live right here and you’re all zipped in like a turtle. Miss Henshaw, the old lady who’s the check-out girl at the A & P who gyps everybody—her nephew is a cop and she’s saving us two divine places right by the curb. You’re not the only one with connections. But she can’t save them forever. Oh God, Artie, what a morning! You should see the stars!!! I know all the stars from the time I worked for that astronomer and you should see Orion—O’Ryan: the Irish constellation—I haven’t looked up and seen stars in years! I held my autograph book up and let Jupiter shine on it. Jupiter and Venus and Mars. They’re all out! You got to come see Orion. He’s the hunter and he’s pulling his arrow back so tight in the sky like a Connect-the-Dots picture made up of all these burning planets. If he ever lets that arrow go, he’ll shoot all the other stars out of the sky—what a welcome for the Pope! And right now, the Pope is flying through that star-filled sky, bumping planets out of the way, and he’s asleep dreaming of the mobs waiting for him. When famous people go to sleep at night, it’s us they dream of, Artie. The famous ones—they’re the real people. We’re the creatures of their dreams. You’re the dream. I’m the dream. We have to be there for the Pope’s dream. Look at the light on the Empire State Building swirling around and around like a burglar’s torch looking all through the sky—Everybody’s waiting, Artie—everybody!
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