A Likely Story

If you discovered a fantastic power like this, you'd use it benevolently, for the good of the entire human race—wouldn't you? Sure you would !
That was the damnedest December I ever saw in New York. Whatever the weather is, Manhattan always gets the worst of it—frying hot in summer, snow or slush up to your ankles in winter—and all along the seaboard, it was a mean season. Coming in from Pennsylvania the day before, we'd been held up twice while the tracks were cleared. But when I stepped out of the hotel that night, the Saturday after Christmas, it was like a mild October; the air was just cool, with a fresh hint of snow in it. There was a little slush in the gutters, not much; the pavements were dry.
I was late, or I would have gone back and ditched the rubbers; I hate the foolish things to begin with, one reason I moved to the country—out there, I wear house slippers half the year, galoshes the rest; there's no in-between. I took off my gloves, opened my scarf, and breathed deep lungfuls while I walked to the corner for a cab. I began to wonder if it had been smart to move 90 miles out of town just because I didn't like rubbers.
The streets didn't seem overcrowded. I got a cab without any trouble. Nobody was hurrying; it was as if the whole population was sitting peacefully at home or in some bar, in no rush to be anywhere else.
Listen, I said to the cabbie, this is still New York, isn't it?
He jerked his chin at me. Hah?
Where's the crowds? I said. Where's the rotten weather? What happened?
He nodded. I know whatcha mean. Sure is funny. Crazy weather.
Well, when did this happen?
Hah?
I said, how long has this been going on?
Cleared up about three o'clock. I looked out the winda, and the sun was shinin'. Jeez! You know what I think?