★★★★ The dull brown glazed bricks of the subway wall gave in to the force of the day and served as mirrors, lighting up both sides of the stairway. Up in the sun again, from the eastbound 7, the oncoming Manhattan train came shining around the curve and the muted 5 Pointz graffiti glowed in pastel tones through the whitewash. “So many taxis,” the two-year-old said, staring down at a parking lot ablaze in orange-yellow. Glass in luxury condominium buildings showed its ripples; stains and faded markings covered the wide Queensian expanses of concrete. On went the tagged ductwork, a sagging ridgeline, plywood—and then the treetops at train level, lush and abundant, or the train at bird level through the treetops. People and the breeze were both flowing freely on Roosevelt Avenue. The daylight and the chandeliered cavernousness of the mall’s dim sum hall couldn’t quite reconcile with one another, as the space filled up entirely from wall to wall. The Flushing sky was clear, but as the train headed back out of the treetops and through the TV dishes, clouds were gathered close together over Manhattan. Some of the afternoon was almost gray, and some was a sprawling array of blue and white to lie back and stare at. By dinner, it had all cleared out, so the blinds had to come partway down. Light shone over the rugged terrain of a crumb-topped slice of pie. Outside, a clean wind was blowing from the evenly pink west. A gull crooked its wings and steered into it. In the grocery store, a sparrow was singing, on top of ducts painted evening blue.