New York City, April 16, 2017

★★★★ In the hot, direct sun, the difference between the white of the notebook page and the whiter white of the church bulletin was nearly the difference between a tan blazer and a new white shirt. The breeze was as pushy as the heat, shoving and tugging at loosened clothing. A man wore two pieces of a light gray three-piece suit, carrying the jacket slung over an arm. “Needle Park,” a woman said into her phone, on her way toward 72nd Street. “I don’t know what it’s called now.” A darkening tendency in the clouds became a real darkness, and a little rain came down. Rain clicked against the windows and then clear strengthening sun shone, in a matter of moments. One table of people drinking wine on the roofdeck held its place, while the next table packed and fled. Sun and rain kept cutting in and out, till new gusts and showers finally drove the holdouts away. The rain was aglow with the light coming up from downtown. Soon the sky was clear again; fresh, drowsiness-inducing air came in the windows. The rigging ropes still dangling outside the window were thick with shadow and color, enriched by the late light. It seemed like a resolution, but at night again came the sound of rain slapping on the building and wind groaning under the door.

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