New York City, July 1, 2013

★★★ The morning was sticky enough for air conditioning, but not actually hot. The clouds, after days of equivocation, made and then delivered a straightforward threat: rain, smashing across the river in a blinding rush. The drops swirled, fat and white, like snow; they swerved and shuddered downward like so many knuckleballs. Leaves flashed their undersides, and the construction crew spread plastic sheeting on the ground. In moments, the uncovered ground was liquid, the color of coffee with not enough milk. The apartment building five blocks away was nothing but an outline. Wraiths of spray, dark as smoke, hurled themselves against the side of the nearest tower and went crawling down the side of the building. Just as fast, everything reappeared. The grocery boxes arrived, their saturated cardboard slumping into shapelessness and coming apart at the seams. Showers would cycle on and off for the rest of the day, like a once-exciting incident becoming more vague and abstract at each retelling.