Today is a day of . . .

. . . half-smoked cigarettes; the raspy peal of rubber seeking purchase on a glassine veneer of ice; pretty women red-cheeked in pea coats and scarfs, their bodies fisted like infants on the verge of tears, their eyes gleaming an eyelash short of freezing over; wind as recrimination; the search for unexpected and ephemeral oases of warmth and flight from the equally unexpected pockets of cold carted in with each quarter of a revolving door; contemplation: Why would anyone in his right mind leave the house on a day like today?