March 22
It was 60 degrees in the city today, damp and humid and thawing, and so all the creepy things crawled out of the alleys and window wells and subway tunnels to leer and stagger in a state of public intoxication. Young men stood in groups on street corners and puffed out their chests in the sunlight, posturing loudly, legs akimbo, while the dirty slush melted and dripped into the gutters. Everything had come alive in an edgy, shifty-eyed, spring-fever kind of way, like something was about to happen, but it wouldn’t until after the sun had set.
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