★★★ The wind tousled hair or whipped it around. On the steps up from the subway, warm air contended with and briefly edged out the chill. Out on the street, though, fingers went numb. Sparrows chattered in the shelter of the bushes behind the shelter of the netted scaffolding. One tiny wayward puff of cloud crossed above the avenue. The doorman scooped up a windblown cardboard box and made small talk about how cold it was. Winter, practically, still. In the night, the full Dipper stood over Broadway and Amsterdam, every star of it shining, if you looked up between streetlights.
Thursday, April 4th, 2013
37 Polly Asks: New York Magazine Wants Me to Write Ask Polly For Them. Should I Tell Them to Piss Off?