By now the delicate falling br of a shining snowfall soothed br every inch of Brooklyn br which I announced to everyone br in Mike’s restaurant. br Behind the counter Ryan glanced br at his watch, then continued br peeling potatoes for the morning rush hour. br “Bernstein, ” he said, “you’re one way out dude.” br “Still a miracle, Ryan, br and did you know each snowflake’s alive br also unique, never to be repeated br a billion births going on right now br on the streets of Brooklyn.” br Kotz struggled to turn his head to me br then said, “I’ll be dead br but I’ll survive—on the street, br lost, homeless, a bum. br But what’s that? ” br Before I could respond br Celina Callahan, the writer, said to Kotz, br “Many people who are that bad off br kill themselves. br In my last novel fourteen characters br did away with themselves, br mostly with a cocktail of Clorox and red wine, br although a few took the gas pipe. br One jumped from the roof of br a six story building. I made him land br on bushes breaking his fall. br He lived. br Thus the irony of a leap to life br propelled the novel br with such dramatic force br I was amazed at my own skill. br I say a ‘leap to life’ br because after the attempt br he realized how wonderful br simply being alive could be. br He broke a leg, of course, br but in the hospital he met a nurse br who became fascinated with br his few seconds of falling. br Conversations ensued, br then love, then marriage, br then children, then happiness.” br “How do you come up with that stuff? ” asked Kotz. br “I follow authentic life, ” said Celina Callahan. br Kotz stared at her, lips moving towards a smile br then stopping, serious, saying, br “A real man puts br a bullet through his brain.