That day I could not work because the sky was grey. The day before I had not worked because the sky was blue. I left the Public Library, where I was working at my history of the French Revolution (a work I could no longer do at home because the view from my apartment made me nervous), and decided to take a short walk on Fifth Avenue, uptown of course, because to walk downtown would have been fatal to my work.

Thoughts on American Economy. I wash my own shirts and rub and rub, leaning over the wash-stand or the bathtub and dirt wont come off—an off-white, off-blue, off-tan line remains along the collar and the cuffs, and my back hurts and my shoulder blades hurt, and my time passes without writing or reading. 

In 1952 a rich and lively magazine given to moral teachings and the wonders of science published a “factual study" of the hangover, sub-titling it in block letters A SCIENTIFIC ANALYSIS, and sub-sub-titling it (for the immediate relief of drunks and advertisers): “The damage is not real; headache may be due to liver and shakes to remorse; a cure would be worth a fortune.”