Last night, big sky Brooklyn was spread over with a spectacular mackerel sky. Underlit by the glow of Megalopolis, the cirrocumulus clouds spread out of the west, mottled and splotchy. As I descended the Slope towards 4th Avenue, long ripples were to be seen, as on a beach. Through the valley of the shadow of the greasy green Gowanus -- ye, I shall fear no evil -- I went. At Bond, the terminal moraine rises again, and the clouds above, maybe 45,000 feet away, stretched as if pulled by the east. But to the west, and the fields of New Jersey, the cloud fabric were fringed. Perpendicular rays of night cut up into it, like some punkette’s skirt. (“I look like fuckin’ Stevie Nicks,” says Nancy in that sublime Romeo & Juliet, Sid & Nancy). It was glorious. A fitting penultimate night of the year.
Psst, want to see how the pros do a turducken? This may not be suitable for all ages. You have been warned.