: All New York is white but it’s not snow and it’s not virtue, it’s salt.
Every street looks like the Bonneville Flats; I expect to see a rocket-powered car (yellow, with off-duty sign lit on top) zipping past any minute.
I’m fearing that we will soon have health-impact studies looking at what will happen to us after we have spent a frigid month inhaling salt dust: We will turn into tuna.
White, white, everywhere. It’s the only time when New York looks clean: when it has been attacked by Morton’s.
Gawd, I want to defrost.