A Day Like Today
It was sweltering and still. The office buildings blocked the wind, but gave no shade to the pavement busily frying feet and discarded gum.
Nobody was smiling. Not the worker bees and the secret squirrels in their native environs. Not the lady street vendor, crouching in her wheeled and poorly air-conditioned concession stand, listening to the sulky clatter of ice melting in her cooler of soda pop. Not the tourists, more footsore and weary from merely existing than from their day of scurrying between the landmarks. Certainly not the man dawdling outside of the Starbucks, milking a few more minutes out of the workday before returning to the condominium with the broken cooling that would not get fixed for another week.
No, nobody was smiling.
Except that damned woman, practically prancing down the street in one of those bell-shaped coats, whistling one of those stupidly catchy paens to childhood summers in the '50s, attracting scowls from those in earshot. She was