Night on Broadway.

The rain is washing the snow away, making islands that squish underfoot, leaving me ankle-deep in icy water if I’m not careful. I wouldn’t have ventured out, but E needs more cough medicine if either of us is to sleep tonight.

In the closed and darkened produce store, there’s a fat, angry white-and-tabby cat sitting on the cash desk. It looks like it got locked in. Probably it was just exploring around and sniffing things at closing time, and nobody noticed it to kick it out, because it is yelling at passers-by like WHY THE HELL AM I IN HERE? Tomorrow morning, someone will come and they’ll be mightily surprised, because, hey, where did that cat come from?

For now, it’s stuck, but at least it’s stuck somewhere warm and dry.

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