An ancient-looking Jew, identifiable by his full black suit and tall slightly conical fur hat, stands in the loading dock fronting Third Avenue stroking his white beard and watches attentively as a portly man in overalls unloads giant blue plastic barrels from a hand truck.
Through an open rolling gate I can see school buses standing idle like herds of snow-covered sheep in an otherwise empty lot.
Trucks creep heavily over an elevated section of the BQE, silhouetted dark against a soot-grey sky the exact color of the slush that chokes the gutters.
A tall, heavy-shouldered black guy standing on the corner in a long, elegant black fur coat and unnecessary sunglasses makes a joke, and his friends fall over themselves laughing.
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