★★★★ The overnight snow, which had covered everything but the travel lanes of the avenue, was by daylight politely absenting itself from the sidewalks and driveways. People in warm, dull black coats huddled outside a brunch place. It was hard to pick out the residual falling snowflakes through the salt flecks on the cab windows. Long and menacing icicles hung from the archway over the 86th Street Traverse, on its way up onto the East Side. A baby rolled by, cinched tightly into a fuchsia stroller sack, peering around with its head, the only thing it could move. The sun took over, in due time, and in the afternoon Broadway was a corridor of brightness, its pale salt coating catching and carrying the light uptown.
Monday, February 4th, 2013
Samantha Henig » Eight Voicemails from My Grandmother, Who Is Very Upset About the Apparent Death of My Career