The next morning is a karate lesson for Nate. Picture twenty or so 4 and 5 years olds practicing karate. Lots of wandering off to check out a corner of the room, of being pulled back into the group by the very patient teacher, of little kids doing something in their heads. "Don't use your karate skills, these special tools, to hit other kids, or your brothers and sisters..." admonishes the teacher. "Or your mother" adds the woman sitting on the floor next to me, sotto voce.
Maya watches for Penn Station.