" That was what it took me some time to see the snow falling in the window at the end of the bar. Whispers rose among the guests, they pointed to the street. Their heads turned in a reverent row. Thin shards of truffle drifted down and disappeared into the tagliatelle. "Finally," said Nicky, and replaced the truffle. He leaned back on the bar, wearing a handsome, self-satisfied smile. "You never forget your first snow in New York." The first flakes lingered in the window, framed. For a second, I believed they would fly back up to the streetlights. "