★★★★ Three pigeons banked in unison in the sunlight in the middle distance. Behind them was the Norwegian Jewel at anchor, and behind that a light blue haze downriver. High clouds came together in a ventilated cover, and then an unventilated one. Midafternoon was just gray; joggers were out on the West Side Highway in zip-up jogging jackets. The cab had an ashtray stench to it, but the fresh air through a window crack was too cold to admit for long. The sun broke through as the cab lurched across the Brooklyn Bridge. Past the ugly tan girders, the Manhattan Bridge was handsome, shining cleanly in blue and white, with cars freely moving over the span. The sun kept shining into Brooklyn. It was bright enough to draw people out the back door of the party over and over again without coats—over and over because before long, a person would duck back inside to shake the chill. Back in Manhattan, at Columbus Circle, a man winced across the street with his hands jammed in the pockets of his velvet blazer.
Monday, March 11th, 2013