New York City, September 23, 2015

★★★★ The shapes of clouds on blue were focused by the slits of the blinds, more effectively maybe than by contact lenses in bleary eyes soon afterward. Outside felt for a fraction of a moment as if it might be chilly, and then for another fraction as if it might be warm, before it resolved into neither, a supreme anodyne, under what had become a wholly clear sky. Down on the solar blast zone of Union Square, things were a bit warm. A man in sunglasses, wearing jeans and a nailhead blazer with the lapels turned up, crossed the street carrying a thick magenta blender beverage. The low peak of warmth passed and the cooling air carried the harbor smell up into the streets. The fattening moon stood white in the still-pale sky. The light and shadow up in the buildings saturated and deepened to tortoiseshell.