New York City, December 9, 2014

[No stars] Trapped light on the clouds made the blur out the window look like dawn at 4 a.m., as the three-year-old yelled for a drink of water. The genuine dawn looked nothing at all like dawn, just darkness beyond wet windows. The mouth of 66th Street where it met West End from the east was completely underwater, up to the hubcaps of the cars as they forded it. Oil sheets moved on the uncalmed waters. The cobblestone tree planters on the back side of the Trump buildings were cisterns. Faceless pedestrians went by behind umbrellas pulled low. The chill of the water through the rubber of the 25-year-old boots felt like a leak, but still was not one. The rain slicker held off the water but possibly just redirected it to the legs of the jeans. By night, the long drenching was over, and the rain slicker inadequate for the cold wind blowing down the Bowery.