The Sentinel
“Better let him go.” The voice came from behind me as I walked down 87th Street early Saturday evening. I was supremely tired and anxious to get to the nearest subway station. I had sent the last four hours hiking through Central Park with my nature walk Meetup group and I was feeling it. There was a time when I would’ve walked down from the 97th Street, where the tour ended, all the way to Columbus Circle at 59th Street to get the D train to Brooklyn. It was a beautiful day, there was still some daylight left, I was in no rush to get home, and I’d be walking down Central Park West—why not burn up even more calories? But I was especially beat on this day, and I had this nagging feeling that may I’d getting a little too old for these lengthy strolls. Gosh, I hope not, since I loved walking, and I get a real buzz when I check the step counter on my phone. But I’d skipped one subway station on the way down, so I reckoned I’d earned my ride home. I was walking toward the Muse