New York City, September 25, 2016

★★★★ A little airplane went by, crisp white in a sky that had forgotten what a cloud might be. A real chill came in the window. The five-year-old swaggered and shuffle-stepped up the block, new walkie-talkies clipped to the sides of his waistband, on the way to buy walkie-talkie batteries. Slabs of discarded ice were melting into a storm drain, but not quickly. Some young people tried trampling on them, ineffectually. With the batteries in place, the five-year-old wanted to stay out in the forecourt to watch baseball scores on the phone. Cigarette smoke was solid blue in the one incoming patch of sun. Just enough clouds showed up to streak the west with pink, and to daub the horizon with complicated oranges.