The clouds parted in the afternoon so we hiked to Williamsburg and sat in the window of Vera Cruz, our feet dangling off stools, our fingers swirling straws in watered down margaritas. The humidity was oppressive.
By five, the storm clouds crept up, dragging back shadows across the city. By the time I went under the East River, it had started to rain. I walked home amidst snapping thunder bolts and bony streaks of lightening.
When the storm passed, I decided to go for a walk. The heat had been released, and the sidewalks felt cool and forgiving. I looked up: the sky was an eerie gray-yellow sepia.
On my walk home, the lighting began to take on a rosy cast, and then violet. The clouds bunched up into fuzzy coins. New Yorkers stopped and stared up into the soft purple sky…