New York City, May 27, 2015

★★★★ The sun shone blearily through thick, smelly morning air. The cross street was pungent like feces newly stepped on. Even the fresh cooking odors being generated by a food cart had a note of rot. The gray in the sky burned away to a thin whiteness over blue. The light was lovely and the air was cool and there was a smell by the gutter that was nauseating after perhaps one glass too many, or too hasty, of iced coffee. People were gladly sunstruck, invigorated by it, trying out their body parts. The platinum bleach jobs going around were brilliant. The barber could not stop sneezing till the shampooist ran out and brought back an over-the-counter pill and a cup of water. The windowshades had been opaque from outside the shop but from the chair, the street was visible, with only the details of the sidewalk stains fuzzed out. The temperature was neither warm nor cool enough to call attention to the absent hair. At the workday’s end there was a purposeful wind, and then uptown a big, light gray cloud stood over Broadway. The apartment lobby was suddenly dark, and the living room window showed heavy clouds over the river. A figure like a giant dangling torso with clawed hands dangled by its waist from the bottom of the main cloud, arched its back, and broke apart. Then the turmoil was replaced by a smooth and featureless gradient of light and color: “I think it’s a mixed-up color,” the three-year-old said. “I think it’s brownish orange.” “Blue to purple to orange,” the seven-year-old said. The orange fraction, glowing at the bottom, brightened and grew. The clouds acquired texture and turned lavender, then pink. It was well after they’d faded again that the rain began at last to fall.