It's that time of the evening when the dog next door isn't barking, there are no C-130s doing practice runs over the town, the train is still an hour away, no sirens, no helicopters leaving the hospital, and no thumping bass from the cars on Montgomery Avenue. It's the time of evening when the crickets start their songs. The lightning bugs are everywhere. The fading smell of the stargazers next to the front steps is still intoxicating. The air is beyond dry. Nothing moves. It's perfect.