New York City, November 18, 2014

★★★★ The only trace of the past day’s soggy unpleasantness was a curbside puddle or two. The light was golden and abundant, the chill on the wind wintry, but not winter. A fruit vendor wore fingerless gloves. Down against the Puck Building, a vaping man issued a thick white plume. The maple trees were still densely crowned with pale yellow, even as the street and sidewalk filled with dry yellow leaves, fallen since the rain. Deep into the afternoon, the bright blue sky shone down through the office windows, and rolling up a shade brightened the area noticeably. Then night fell like a guillotine, after the last pardon was exhausted. One bright star shone near the zenith. The cold made the nose run and brought up a dry cough. The maple leaves were white under the yellow streetlight. Straight lines glinted on the top of a puddle where a skin of ice was forming.