★★★ The coolness and the humidity seemed like they could have reached some perfect balance, but combined instead merely to cancel each other out, making it almost sweltering without being warm. The morning light had a hard, acrylic clarity; the two-year-old–riding on shoulders, pointing out contrails–added his own fumes and energy to the mix. The leaves hung low, and the streets and sidewalk were a source of spectacle for discussion: a CitiBike rider struggling with the rack, a trio of police with one jotting notes or a citation. By afternoon, the air had improved, and the two-year-old had settled into an overdue torpor. Sun squeezed through the blinds to sparkle in the nap-sweat on his scalp, where it showed through his still-fresh buzz cut.