Yesterday Caitlin and I brainstormed future lives — in other countries, with other professions. Maybe their winter will be our summer. We’ll forget that it gets cold in June. Maybe this recession is a depression. We should be saving milk bottles and bits of tin foil. Maybe we should be: watching the pale winter sun stream through the dirty plate-glass window of a coffee shop on Clark St.; rubbing the salt stains off our suede sneakers with windburned fingertips, sharing recipes for bread and yogurt made from scratch — bacteria is your best friend — and thinking this $2.50 for an espresso will be the last one of the week. And the sun through the dirty plate glass window pools under the smooth pine table like a dog at our feet, today is warmer than yesterday, and everything seems possible — bread, yogurt, and everything.