The rain had stopped. But the air was still wet. The venue felt like a deserted schoolyard. No kids, barely any adults. The paint on the tugboat and crop-duster planes looked dull and faded and the gardens had a revolting quality to it, a place where clowns, balloon twisters, popcorn scoopers, and other low-wage workers readied themselves and forced smiles to entertain absent plutocrats. I looked up at the gray sky and felt hope. Clouds spread the light and softened the rays so that no one on the ground today would have to walk in the shadows of Billionaires’ Row.