★★★ Clear sun came from the east, lit up the buildings across Manhattan in all their individuality, then hit a blank pearl-white wall where the Hudson River would have been. Past all the crisp facades and the solid-looking plumes of steam, there was nothing. Some other mist had condensed on the face of the mirrored tower, revealing the usually hidden structure as it whitened the columns of blank glass panels but left the genuine windows clear. The fog on the river darkened to a creamy purple and drifted inland, moving below the tops of the towers on West End Avenue. Gradually in the west it became nothing but a floating transparent discoloration, but the view down Broadway to Columbus Circle lay in veil upon veil like some deeper and more picturesque landscape. The air stayed humid and chilly, and the sky in the distance stayed off-color, even as subtle blues and whites played overhead.