New York City, April 10, 2016

★★ The heavy latch of the playground gate was cold to the touch. The sun had made it seem as if this would be one decent day in the awkward and gloomy adolescence of the year, and the act of rolling ground balls to the children on the bright concrete schoolyard introduced even a transitory feeling of warmth. But in the broken shade of the infield, with the more infrequent movement of hitting and pitching the wiffle ball, the chill crept back in, and the lingering leaflessness began to feel oppressive. The first place that had hot chocolate did not have marshmallows, and the second place also did not have marshmallows, but the deal was that the search would end there regardless. The apartment filled with late sun. A row of white flares traced the edge of the plate anchoring the intercom phone to the hallway wall. Purple fingerprints glimmered all over the dark glass of the computer screen. The four-year-old, his request to close the blinds denied, went off to get a sleep mask in protest. A reef of clouds cut off the remaining light, and the disagreement.