Snow has been absent from New York since my return from Europe. A few snow flurries have dusted the sidewalks of Fort Greene and the city experienced a cold snap in February, but otherwise this winter has been extremely abnormal. Today’s temperature reached the mid-70s and tomorrow is predicted to hit a new record for March, so I’m feeling good about the bet which I made with my landlord AP at the beginning of the month.

“I think the snow is finished for this year,” I forecasted from my room on the top floor of his brownstone.

“I think we’ll get another storm.” AP and I had been drinking cheap wine. The liquor store on Fulton was selling two bottles of plonk for $10 tax inclusive. There was nothing cheaper in the neighborhood.

“Not a chance.” My windows were wide open and I was barefooted.

“You wanna bet?” AP loved the snow. He was a good skier. His family had planned a school holiday for St. Patrick’s Day. “Four inches by the end of April.”

“You have to be kidding.” I was from New England. My aunt and uncle in Marblehead had phoned in the morning to praise the peculiar warmth. There was no snow on the ground at my niece’s house in upper Maine, although the top of Mount Katahdin was covered by a seasonal glacier. Her husband worked in the forest. They had snow up there, but not on her lawn.

“I’ll back it up with $10.” AP had two kids. A tenner cut into his allowance as deeply as mine, but I confidently backed up my mouth. “I’ll take your ten.”

We shook hands and finished off the rest of the bottle.

It was pretty crappy wine, but then what can a wino expect for $4?