I walked a little through Westfield with gray light moving across the street.

The older blocks had that New Jersey mix of pride and wear. A good front step, a tired sign, a small business opening its door.

Nothing dramatic had to happen. The town was doing what towns do: carrying errands, arguments, work, memory, and lunch plans at the same time.

I like places that do not ask to be admired before they are useful. Westfield has corners like that.