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On Sunday night, I walked south on Amsterdam Avenue past the Trinity Church Cemetery, which was enshrouded in fog. It was, I felt confident, the most peaceful place on earth.

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Unfortunately, the gate was locked, so I could only stare through the fence at the tombstones, the trees, and the beautiful lamplights. 

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I've had many dreams and aspirations in my life, and most of them have ebbed and flowed except for one, which has been constant: the dream to have my remains (along with those of Stephen and our cats) entombed in large, decrepit crypt in Trinity Church Cemetery. 

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If I had billions of dollars, I thought, I wouldn't waste my time destroying the federal government. I would put aside however many millions I needed to reserve and construct a crypt (nothing modern; it would have to be 'period'), and then (after chartering a yacht on Below Deck Mediterranean) give the rest to animal-rescue organizations around the world.  

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The lamplights illuminated a path, showing the way.