The other night I was telling O.H.S. that the sound we’d just heard was a ship’s horn, and I said it was second only to the sound of a train whistle on the prairie for pure evocativeness. (Along with the porch swing, the train whistle is one of the Midwest’s sweetest gifts.) Every once and while I hear the booming sea-girt horn sound here, two long blocks and a chain-link fence away from the edge of the great harbor. There aren’t that many boats on the water now, but there is still a hint of action out there; I’m also sure I’ve heard honks from those floating motels that dock next to the parking lot in Red Hook that is that brilliant piece of development called the cruise ship terminal. But yesterday I was walking down Atlantic Avenue and heard the same sound from a semi. Another illusion smashed.