★★ The sky was a hopeless gray. “I’m glad I’m not marching,” one man said to another, as his dog urinated on a scaffold post. “I’m glad I’m not in a kilt,” the other said. The piston-gusts of an uptown 2 and a 1 were frigid along the platform. People clutched hot beverages, or possibly other beverages in hot beverage cups. Who could tell? Babies or overindulged small dogs were bulges of fabric, on or inside outerwear. Later in the day, the clouds had acquired a little texture, light-medium gray against light gray. Then, in the night, they had come apart. One sheet, with the round just-past-full moon showing through it, glowed silver; others caught the orange of the city lights. Between them was deep blue, with twinkling stars and strong-shining planets in its lingering winter-clarity.