The vibe was very West Coast: everyone looked like someone I’d played in a Seattle band with a decade ago. Cowboy boots and fleece, a lot of craft beer and sleeve tattoos, #vanlifers with fedoras and rainbow Pendleton blankets, earth-toned knitwear and dusty Chacos (the “pretty” kind with the toe loop), big Indigo Girls energy. I’ve been in New York too long; I don’t own clothes like this anymore.

On Monday night, my second shift, we handed out 200 kale salads, 300 meals of dumplings and chicken, more pizzas than I can count, and cups and cups and cups of hot ramen. It was two days before the City Council vote, and hot and steamy with thunderstorms. A jazz combo had arrived with the AfroSocialist march, and had now set up in the street to play. People danced. People ate, and had seconds, and then came back to our station for coffee and cupcakes. A couple, their belongings piled next to them on a bench, embraced.

When “fire and fury” were brought to Korea, they were accompanied by the threat of nuclear weapons. At a press conference on November 30, 1950, President Truman proposed the use of the atomic bomb in Korea to protect a “just and peaceful world order.” On December 9, undone by the unforeseen Chinese offensive, General MacArthur requested the use of twenty-six atomic bombs to counter the attack. On Christmas Eve, MacArthur upped the request to thirty-eight, and in later interviews, would talk about using anywhere from thirty to fifty nuclear warheads.