I was taking the train home with my sister one day when we heard of a brushfire up ahead. After waiting on the top level of the double-decker for a few minutes, we walked off the train and I took her to Sook, a little French pastry shop in Ridgewood. I got a pumpkin creme brûlée, and she got a fruit tart. We shared the hot chocolate. It seemed like the perfect time and place for an inaugural sketch in my first Moleskine, which I had bought a few weeks ago at a tiny bookstore in the West Village christened “bookbook”. This woman, who reminded me of my first-grade teacher, was speaking intently to her male friend and never once looked up.