The weather turned bad and I got happy. That's wrong—I mean the morning sky was ash blue, birds on the ground. I mean not happy but good, not good but fastened, steady, like every train in the city was running late, but no one minded. On 12th Street, tarpaulin swelled and bowed in wind. Rain drove straight through a woman's dress. And again on Hollis, driving: drenched flags, damp black trees, the leaves dripping like rinsed hands. I pulled over. A girl held her mother by the shoulders on a porch.