"September morn' dips a dainty toe into a Broadway billboard, and unshivering-gazes down upon a street that only yesterday was choked with summer. 

But the refuse is there, where the summer has passed and left pieces of itself: in the scratch and warp of summertime blues still screeching out of the loud speakers; the sunny mannequins, wax slightly melted, waiting in shop windows to be replaced by the fall and winter models; the faint odors of the sun-warmed perfume, th' souvenir of the golden girl who walked right past you, turned the corner, vanished into a place where summer never dies.  

A place not open to you, kid. Only autumns ahead of you, kid. Start using it; it's already given you two murders: a woman in the front seat of a car, a man scooped out of the earth from the teeth of a steam shovel. What more can you ask? September's showering her gifts on you, kid, take them! they're all yours!"

Detective Danny Clover, "The Anna Compton Murder Case," Broadway is My Beat (1951)