New York City, December 23, 2015

[No stars] Again the clammy air had none of the virtues of warmth; from the street, the fog wrought no changes in the landscape more interesting than keeping the foreground damp and the background blurry. The rain came and went and did things in between, till it was uncertain whether it was intensifying or just coming in at a more unpleasant angle with a change of direction. A heel slipped off a wet curb with a whole body jolt that sent a spurt of coffee up and out the sip-hole in the cup lid. The rain settled on coming down heavily, filling the gutters, cascading in nasty sheets from the edges of canopies or the middle of a scaffold. The nice tasteful paper shopping bag from the nice tasteful store grew wetter and wetter and softer and softer till, right before the subway mouth, it gave way entirely, spilling paper and cloth goods onto the flooded paving blocks. The train was full of clothes-steam, parcels, and anxiety. The winter boots had to come down from the shelf simply and only because they were the most waterproof thing available to go back out in. The night air was disgusting.