New York City, April 29, 2015

★★★★★ No need for a jacket in the morning. Quilted reflections of light lay in the dark space between an SUV and a truck. A rear collar button shone; trees on a stepback roof five stories up leaned out of their own building’s shadow to catch the light. The line of Sabrett umbrellas and the steel globe outside the Trump International Hotel and Tower were equally blinding. A woman in a phosphorescent white suit, whiter than her hair, rested her bag on a bollard. On the eight-block walk down Broadway, looking at the phone never entered the mind. Piled garbage on Prince Street was starting to smell. A worker dabbed new black paint on a violently bent and leaning railing around a planting bed. The little viola sounded at least as good out in the brightness of the roof as it ever had sounded indoors.