It's past midnight, and I'm in the kitchen, in the dark, standing in my boxers, filling a water bottle and looking out my back window. The kitchen looks out on the backyards of all the buildings on this block, each a little fenced in rectangle of paradise that I imagine united in summer into a single small park - nobody would probably go for it, though, or want to knock down the fences, even if they were into it.
Right now, though, everything is heavy and quiet and white with snow, and the sky is glowing with reflected light from Manhattan to the west. The air is full of an orange light like a fire about to go to sleep, and it lights up the backyards almost as bright as day.
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