I’m walking down Cadman Plaza East en route to my studio on a bitterly cold March morning. The snow that has fallen the week before has partially melted and formed irregular patches of solid white that cover the less-trodden areas of the path and landscaped areas that surround it. I’m under-dressed, and I’m walking at a fast clip on the long stretch that abuts Whitman Park when I become aware of two angry voices. A man and woman are walking parallel to me on the concrete fountain, an area that transforms into a children’s water park during the summer months. Both appear to be in their mid-sixties, and are clad in heavy layers of clothing. The man is walking ten yards or so ahead of the woman, and seems to be shouting at her. He does this without turning around, and every so often he stops, raises his voice, and gesticulates angrily, as if emphasizing a point in his harangue. The woman, shuffling along behind him at an even distance, pauses when the man pauses, raising her fist in defiance, and shouts something back. The unhappy couple continues in this stop-start pattern, slowly circling the frozen water park before exiting in the direction of Jay Street.