New York City, April 18, 2016

★★★★★ The four-year-old, home for father-son convalescence, consented at last to nap in the sun-filled big bedroom. Then he sat by the open crack of a window and, avidly if still stuffily, narrated the progress of the window-washing rig up the mirrored tower. Outside was not the least bit cold, he said. He’d stuck a hand out to make sure. Only with effort could he be steered away from wearing his flip-flops out to pick up his brother. The warmth of the day had peaked and now yielded to a lively and restorative breeze. Up Broadway a man strummed mellow notes on a Stratocaster while seated. Representatives of both sides of the Democratic presidential contest held their places close but not too close to each other, without acknowledgement. The air invited a deep breath, even if the airway couldn’t quite manage to take one.