New York City, August 27, 2015

★★★★★ A general thrum of the city came in on the fresh air. There was a gag back in college, a premise completely forgotten till now, that the weather and guitar pop could share adjectives: thrumming. Down on Amsterdam, a parking-enforcement cop in short sleeves eyed an insulation-company van. Summer clothes were a matter of welcoming the breeze, not escaping the heat. “Oh, my gosh,” the eight-year-old said, “that cloud is so bright white.” An unnecessary downblast from an air conditioner hit the top of the steps where people were following the cookie smell, one stair at a time, down into the bakery. In the afternoon, out the window, clouds darkened and began to close together. Then, having issued the warning against taking the day for granted, they relented and separated again. The three-year-old argued that it was chilly enough for his Batman costume to be practical for the playground. Some note of solvent on the breeze brought back model paints in Philadelphia summers three and a half decades before. “Super Bad” played out the window of something in traffic, most likely a clean white Land Rover. Home plate was open for wiffle ball; the concrete drinking fountain was being used to fill water balloons. Once the batting was over, Batman shed the costume for the Superman t-shirt underneath. Outside the playground again, a lively wind came along 70th Street and the three-year-old went running off into it.