The trenches

The first time we visit Elie Wiesel Square on a weekend, I’m staggered by the density of modish young families: neat-hipped milfs in belted jeans and little embroidered jackets; lightly stubbled dilfs in tailored, earth-toned clothing; children dressed either like something out of Frances Hodgson Burnett or a Yeezy drop. One lambent-skinned mother in a soft-looking oatmeal set, rimless oval sunglasses and a geo-print headscarf in as many shades of brown as a chocolate box, snaps photos of two little girls in matching oatmeal smocks, white stockings and shiny black Mary Janes, their long black hair in intricate braids.