New York City, May 19, 2015

★★★ Fog again, a chill again. Birds had sung, loudly, through the open window in the dark hours of the night. It was time to drag the beds and the couch away from the heating-and-cooling cabinets so the crew could come in and change the filters. A few streaks of rain hit the windows around midday. It was a little too muggy out in the drizzle for the jacket, and a little too chilly to be without it. Amid the uncertainty, the air conditioning on the train was surely the wrong temperature. In the afternoon, the sun came out, or a blinding sunlike field of glare came out. The sky opposite it was blue, with a haze that only amounted to cloudlike streaks here and there. The hazy glare made its way west and grew yellower. A jet flew through it with an ooze and a flash like a bubble in shampoo. The first mosquito of the year flew into the living room, drifted under the neck of the little blue guitar, and allowed itself to be killed against the hassock.