New York City: 10.19.16.

I read that piece on Greenland too. Not Eliot Weinberger but Elizabeth Kolbert. Or was he Iceland’s valise and she Greenland’s dispatcher? Basically, it’s melting. And what’s good for the Greenlanders is, at least in the short term, bad for everyone else. Now and forever. It’s supposed to be the last day of another “record-setting” heat wave. Two days of enjoyable, no-layers-required temps? It is the middle of October, after all. Walking down a Manhattan avenue, all the bars with TV’s are showing the third presidential debate. Walking past, one hears political remonstrating through the sighing windows. Dead leaves all over the sidewalk, it smells fetid, in a pastoral way despite the urbane environs. Occasionally, roaring crowds can be heard and the folks standing outside, craning an ear and a neck, join in. I saw more white people clemching their fists as if the air were a stressball during the Pacquiao-Mayweather fight, tbh, but tonight they’re watching another prizefight of sorts. Another blow for Her. Another duck, dive, and counter for Him. No, it was just an ad-libbed sucker punch. But the media calls her steely, icy. Not unlike parts of Greenland still, maybe. The line to get into the concert hall isn’t very deep and who else wishes they were watching the game instead of “our political moment,” as coworkers and family’ll tell you? It’s impolite to check our phones if it’s not for debate Twitter. Too bad — it’s all tied up in the second now. But the show’s about to start and we’ll miss these unseasonal breezes tomorrow, having forgone them for indoor entertainment. Another roar up and down the avenue. Should we cheers? It’s for Her.

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