Swirling is not a word I would usually use, it seeming excessive. But swirling is what it is doing outside my New York window, or, more accurately, terrace if a terrace can be really small and more than hazardous to step out on, especially with the snow swirling. Flakes, or sideways sort of clumps are seemingly trying to fall. Over the rooftop edging the overbuilt seemingly abandoned apartment house across the way some windows are lit, as though this were still New York. I am at once touched and baffled by this display of actual weather, it having been so long since I experienced any, my next to last days in LA having been so rainily out of character they seemed pretentious, an attempt to seem a real place. On my way here I sat next to a nice couple also consigned mistakenly to a last row on American, having paid for a premium that wasn't available. They had gone to LA for a dose of sun that was uncharacteristically totally absent. Nothing right now seems to be turning out as any of us expects us to, except Trump.
The Uber driver who brought me home, a miracle, from the airport was from a place I cannot name, since he couldn't either, being unable to speak any of their usual unintelligible languages. You can't even Google them anymore in a tongue nobody can wag, It is truly the end of the world as we knew it, or thought we did. I may just stay in my tiny apartment forever watching the snow swirl.
