358. He never saw the wet snowflakes coming at him; he only saw them splattering on the windshield. All the traffic lights in the city turned red at the same time. Why? As the time dragged on and the traffic packed-up around him, the impatient were leaving their cars and weaving forward; he joined them. The summer -- blueberries underfoot and a cool Maine fog surrounding all -- was lost to him as he trudged through the bitter city wind.