The lights are turned up bright. Some nights, despite the city's electric haze, we can see the stars. Yes, the stars of Broadway and Daytime - and sometimes those of film. But I'm referring to those other stars many thousands of years away, ones that when gazed upon shock us into humility, back into our tiny selves. Egos, you see, can be weaned. Maybe that's the problem: we city folk can't see the stars most nights, and so we forget that life is more than just about us, that life is this unknowable thing. We are yappy lap dogs coddled 'til now by the universe, unfettered by our size. In fact, we think we're huge.