From Parenthetical Note:
I’ve been thinking about how many times I’ve ridden the ferry since he vanished: at least twice a day on weekdays, back and forth to work, and then some on the weekends to drink Budweiser and shoot pool when I had a friend in town. Then there was that night job I had as a photographer for two weeks, when I had to work late in dance clubs on Saturday and Friday nights. Those were the nights I left my apartment at midnight and came home at four in the morning, when everyone else was asleep, when even the people riding the ferry back from the city were sleeping, leaning against each other, drunk or hungover or both. Was he in the water then, under us, every time we went back and forth? Was I on the boat when he jumped?