★★★★ Surplus light sent morning shadows pointing eastward in the shade. People and foliage and cars had shimmering auras; birdsong was general and passionate. The temperature hovered at the precise inflection point between too warm for the jeans and too chilly for the short-sleeved shirt. Buying sunglasses appeared on the mental list of things to do, if not necessarily right away. Here and there were graduation robes, the lively air filling out their volume. The clouds were sturdy enough in the afternoon to plunge things into dimness when they passed over the sun. They piled up and developed gray interiors, then spread out an purpled, as the river upstream went silver. The first of the flies that had gotten indoors caught a glancing blow from the flyswatter and obligingly tumbled sideways and down to expire in the toilet. The second fly got grazed and dropped somewhere into the shadows, unfindable. The third fly might have been the second fly revived, and it was untouchable, dodging in and out of zones of light and dark, till long after nightfall it finally came to rest on a bathroom mirror and was obliterated.
Tuesday, May 20th, 2014
37 Polly Asks: New York Magazine Wants Me to Write Ask Polly For Them. Should I Tell Them to Piss Off?