New York City, November 17, 2015

★★★ So this was what the puffy vest was good for, the chilly wind coming through the lobby door to begin the march to preschool. The gum in the pocket had no elasticity left in it. The fallen leaves were not even brown, faded beyond color. Shocking berries, the color of fresh blood, hung in the branches of a scrawny tree. The flag at half-staff outside the high school knocked against its pole with that dull particular flagpole chime. Out the office window, across the street, the vertical patches of sun moved inexorably west to east along the south-facing building fronts, marking time. The moon in the clear dark sky over Union Square had thickened a little.