Jogging in Sacher Park, pity I didn’t have my camera on me:
A passel of teenaged boys (20 or so of them) all in identical black pants, white button-down shirts tucked in, black velvet kippot and spanky white tzitzit swaying in the wind, playing soccer. Nobody was skins. Everybody was shirts. I have no idea how they managed to remember who was on whose team, but evidently they did. There was something utterly beautiful about the scene, don’t even know what. Maybe just that it was one of the truly great uses of spring.