Snow

Snow. Not one of those typical NYC snowstorms where it melts in a few days as the temperatures bubble back up into the 40's, as we continue to be trapped in the teens and twenties for the next week. So the snowbanks stay, getting dirtier, but not much shorter. I don't mind it; as I've said before, since I don't own a car or property I don't have the responsibility of shoveling anything or driving anywhere. My biggest problem is that my boots track muddy, salty, sandy sludge into my apartment, my work cubicle, the gym locker room.

It was a day just like this, two years ago, that I sprained my ankle, stepping off a curb into a bank of snow, the snow obscuring how high a drop it was. (It is, I've seen every time I've walked there since, an unusually high curb.) Now I overcompensate, walking in wide circles around mysterious puddles and piles.

One of the saddest sights in these cold days is a lone glove lying, freshly dropped, on the sidewalk or street. Several times I have seen people ahead of me drop a scarf or glove or hat and if nobody else picks it up before I get to it (and they usually don't) I have been grabbing it and chasing down the poor soul who dropped it. As you would expect, most people are incredibly grateful, but yesterday morning I handed a glove to a teenager after practically running after him in a subway station, and he just looked embarrassed. Maybe needing gloves is just not cool enough for high school.