★★★ Not quite as shatteringly cold as the day before; even so, by now things other than water were frozen on the pavement. Coffee? Outside the bodega, bare painted plywood shelves stood where the flower display would have been. In the next block, on cafe tables, blossoms dangled slain from the rims of their flowerpots like the pompom fringe on a hat. Bursts of steam blew overhead across the street, against the featureless blue, dissipating almost entirely before they could reach the roofline opposite.
Friday, January 25th, 2013
37 Polly Asks: New York Magazine Wants Me to Write Ask Polly For Them. Should I Tell Them to Piss Off?
Jessica Gross and Merve Emre » The Fall of the Humanities and the Tyranny of Recommendation Letters: A Novel and a Chat