★★★★★ Even in stillness, there was a distinct chill on the morning air. The high land in the far northwestern distance in New Jersey was plain and clear on the horizon. The sun raised bright white highlights on the cheeks and scalps of people walking beside the vast reflecting surfaces of the Time Warner building. Downtown, in dappled tree shade, it raised blinding spots from the top of SUV. Conditions kept subtly shifting: light and shade, warmth and coolness, gray and white. The edges of the clouds were now indistinct, now distinct. One could walk in it for blocks, looping out of the everyday pattern. Down Lafayette lower than usual, the open back door of a completely empty restaurant framed sun-soaked trees. Someone had installed an arrangement of a Spider-Man figure and a dangling flesh-toned phallus on an overhead wire at Broome Street, the phallus turning in the air currents. The late sun was as soft as the morning sun had been hard–a prettily colored disc descending. The night was mild, taxis plentiful, the emergency room efficient and almost calm.