11:32 AM: The sky has completely cleared, but the rooftops of Washington Heights are a Siberian tundra.
11: 33 AM: There’s no way I’m going outside. (I’m totally going outside.)
12: 45 PM: Snowflakes are hurling themselves like lemmings over a rooftop balustrade.
1:30 PM: When I head outside, I find that in addition to more than ten feet of snow, cardboard boxes have poured down from the sky.
1:32 PM: Broadway is still slick with snow.
1:33 PM: I’m pretty happy not to own a buried car.
1:33 PM: The sunlight streaming through the branches of the trees on the Broadway medians is bright and intense and beautiful. If it weren’t so cold out, I might melt.
1:34 PM: I like how in snowstorms the streets are safe for walking. Everyone is smiling for the most part, even those who who have lost their cars under 100 feet of snow. For a few hours we live in a small village in a time before the automobile, and I think that perhaps life is better like this. (Just as long as I don’t have to get rid of my car, of course.)
