[No stars] A smack in the face, after a night of thumping and creaking wind. The children's gloves and mittens had to be relocated, but at least the inventory of clean sweaters had built up again. Threads of white showed on the river. The preschooler, who'd shaken off his mittens for the sake of carrying a toy car in his bare hand, relented after half a block and allowed the mittens to be put back on. Then he wanted a shoulder ride. Walking the back side of Trumpville with him up there was like driving an empty rental truck over a bridge in a crosswind. The gusts pushed the feet a little off course. By the time he reached the school washroom, his cheeks were a vivid magenta. Outside again, dust and litter were aloft and dive-bombing. Little icicles hung down from a livery sedan and a van.
Friday, March 14th, 2014
45 Polly Asks: New York Magazine Wants Me to Write Ask Polly For Them. Should I Tell Them to Piss Off?