Numb Spiral: Dissociating Within New York’s No Stories

My prewar apartment building in Queens has a mind of its own when it comes to temperature regulation. As another nor’easter batters the city, you can hear the heating send a gush of water through the pipes in the walls, and feel the air stagnate when it turns off. My windows are open to let in the breeze. Dinner was a bowl of leftover Japanese curry over white rice, with three beverages side-by-side and drunk in tandem: Coppola-brand red wine,...