Bitter cold day. A few brilliant flurries fall, their path splitting the stony gray sky like veins of dirty quartz.
But the molecular definition of cold, where movement is curtailed as the temperature drops, must have missed the residents of Brooklyn, because everyone seems to be in their cars, trying to get somewhere - anywhere - as fast as possible, and traffic is backed up from the arch at Grand Army Plaza all the way back to 8th Avenue.
People swerve in front of one another, honking and cursing, lines of cars surge forward and halt, shuddering, at maddening red stoplights, and as the day gets colder and grayer, tempers grow hotter, and the brakelights burn like coals in the following drivers' eyes.
One year ago today: Admit It
Two years ago today: How to Walk
Three years ago today: Whole. Hearted.
Nine years ago today: 1-28-08 Scotty in Furs (or Pleather)