"You look fabulous in red," the old man said to me this morning as I walked in the rain, dodging puddles and shifting my umbrella up and down as I maneuvered through heavy, squeaky foot traffic.

The day had just begun, and I was ready for bed.

I slid through the long cavity of the Times Square subway system and rode to work. There were only three total people in my car, I noticed. The others had been sealed in since upper Manhattan or the Bronx and were dry. The rest of the city was at work already, counting minutes and skipping lunch.

New York goes soft in rain and slow. Tonight both are forecast. People would look each other in the eyes and hold the gaze if they weren't huddled in their apartments alone or with people they already know.