Dawn arrives and the mind feels as polluted as the sooty fog that hangs heavily above the spires and pinnacles of the buildings across the park, a rusty gray glow backlit by the climbing sun. The pace of the morning begins sluggishly, and a good half hour is spent under the egyptian linen staring at the intense figuring on a birdseye armoire. Events such as the gathering the night before prove to be horribly ingratiating and utterly draining affairs, really dreadful, leaving one with an intense desire to eschew a long soak in the marble bath and leave the city as soon as the head clears enough to find their clothes and the exit.