The street is plowed, and a snow-topped taxi and #3 bus just sped south on Saint Paul at something like usual velocity: but the sidewalks, the steps, are all buried again. Looks like less than six inches: nothing like the 20 inches of Snowpocalypse I, but it’s still coming down.

A lone hooded figure, beating its hands about its face like trying to cast away a demon (not my simile, but I don’t remember where I read it) struggles north on the opposite side of the street, wearing a backpack. And now, someone else, walking a bewildered black Lab puppy that runs in circles.