 | The morning air was so thick with humidity you could barely breathe, and at 8 a.m. the sun was already the enemy. Along came a young woman in a crisp white sundress, hair swept up in a ponytail. All logical choices for strolling through an inferno. But around her neck was scarf, a long, thick swath of fabric wrapped and looped several times around.
It was a muffler.
The sight of it unleashed scary memories of the not-so-long-ago, interminable months of icicles in our hair and frozen flesh and cars stuck in snowdrifts. Shudder. Our own mufflers had been stashed in the basement, where we would be very happy to never, ever have to wear them again.
Which brought to mind a question: Was she insane? |  |
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