New York City, September 11, 2013

[No stars] The pearly discoloration of dawn turned into the grimy discoloration of day, on thick and unmoving air. The east was all yellow glare. Blinding and unbearable, the eyes and sweat glands overpowered. The grocery cartons were floppy with humidity. The only thing roused and animate was the hair, writhing and sticking to the face, maddeningly, gorgonically. It would not stop on its own. The barbershop was keeping its shades down, the usual pageant of passersby suspended. Only scissors, clippers, razorblade. The ritual hot towel surely took off all the sunscreen, as if more reason were needed to get inside and stay there.