Today was a day of dusty air.  Not very humid; everything was shadowed with gray.  Everywhere the air smelled stale, dusty.  On my way to church from the bus, I saw a woman standing in front of her black Porsche.  She had the hood up and a large brown feather duster in her hand.  She was carefully listening to the motor and examining all the belts and connections and dusting off the engine block.  I couldn’t help but think that her car was cleaner than the air we were breathing at the time.