• Woken at 7:30 this morning by sound of police cars, spaced a couple minutes apart over an approximately 40 minute interval, the number and apparent speed (from Doppler effect, and sound of powerful car engines) of which led me to think that someone had a gun.  John W. Myers, 92, had shot his son and a woman, and surrendered peacefully, 1.6 miles south of my house.

• Death of Andrew Wyeth, 91, today.  Man with a secret, or merely a master of self-promotion?  Helga paintings.

• Death of Patrick McGoohan, 80, of The Prisoner fame, this week.

• After lunch, walking to bank:  On 9th Ave, a woman, 40s, walking towards me, on phone, almost bumps into me though her eyes are open.  Dressed in aspirational blonde realtor (actual occupation unknown), blue sweater, black pants, low heels, chunky necklace.  Left hand and forearm held tight across ribs (for warmth?) in low 40s cool. As she swerves to avoid me, I hear her say “We have to get those chickens out of the coop.”

• Almost at bank:  Old man, mid to late 70s, mostly bald, long white beard, thick parka.  Smiles wanly or conspiratorially as I pass him.

• On way back from bank, I see this side exit door (below) of the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall: