It’s 7:00 pm. I’ve just gotten off the train in Queens, and walk the 7 “short blocks” (as my real estate broker called it) to my apartment. In the rain. It’s the kind of rain that soaks your jeans so they cling cold to your legs. It’s raw. There’s a pool of backed-up drain water I awkwardly and unsuccessfully leap over. One side of my yellow umbrella feebly hangs slack due to a broken rib and sends a steady stream of water down the back of my new wool coat.