Depths of green invade the shallows of spring, clinging as if wistfully to what may be one of the last days of cool air and brilliant sunshine before things heat up, and the spring that was somehow never there is eclipsed entirely by one of the awkward new summers of our age. From where I sit it’s getting harder to ignore the stink of cat pee where he’s been missing his litterbox out of laziness or spite. People move gently in the streets, greeting each other at a respectful distance, as though the world were a church service. The age.