It’s nighttime, and I’m walking on a quiet stretch of 5th Avenue that runs alongside Green Wood Cemetery. The night is cool and breezy, and the street is empty save for the occasional car or delivery cyclist. On the opposite side of the street I see a middle aged man sitting in a bus stop. He’s clad in a leather jacket and motorcycle boots, and he’s sporting sideburns and a goatee. His hands are clasped together in prayer, and in the glow emanating from the phone in his lap I can see his lips moving rapidly. His gaze is directed upward toward the night sky. After a minute or so the man stops, crosses himself elaborately, and goes back to reading something on his phone.