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A man camped in the windowed lobby of the bank, Saturday night. He’s got himself propped on blankets in the corner and he’s reading a book. I’m outside with the a baby who’s out too late, I’m fitting blanket and bottles into a bag, I’m lifting her sweaty form out of the stroller, collapsing the stroller, shouldering baby and bag and stroller for the trip down into the subway. In the morning, my thigh will be purpled with bruises. I look into the bank window as I enter the stairwell. The man appears to be reading conspiracy theory. End times are near.