New York City, November 8, 2015

★★★★★ The apartment and the subway were stuffy still, but outdoors was the clean, sane chill of November. The streets were quiet and bright. Sun flared high up off the glass skin of the luxury tower, and a while later it flared off whole the glazed surface of the white brick tower across the street. It was cold enough for making a meat sauce but fine enough out for going to get the ingredients. Best to stay on the sunny side of the avenue. A dog sniffed at the used records and books stacked at pee height, and had to be hurried along before it could stop at any of them. Every building had dignity; the newer control house at 72nd Street looked almost as respectable as the older one. The sun went down clear and round, unimpeded by cloud or building. Had there been a cloud at all, all day? The four-year-old’s dark hair, where it stuck above the back of the couch by the window, lit up like new copper wire.