Yellow

The shaded windows were violet against the sun. I had determined to wake Harry, but I spent a long time roaming around the apartment before I did it, drinking a mug of milk, turning on the TV. I knew he would say something later about how I should have, but I couldn't bear it. I didn't want, any more than he did, to have to face the street, and planning things, and spooning ourselves onto the subway train and standing there -- faces blanched by the long bars of light, not talking.

The car had been impounded, the asphalt in the lot was dark with rain. A bowl-shaped man had been poured behind a desk, his two hands moving papers from one side to the other, and around the edges of the small trailer on the edge of the lot were various people in slick coats. It was getting darker. We had come too late. And I thought about the bright yellow boys who had been dancing on the television, right before I had clicked it off.