II

There's a middle aged man with his head planted in a torn hole in the street. Occasionally he pulls himself up to examine a bundle of wires in the light of the sun. He is wearing a hard hat, and has to continuously pull on his pants to counter the weight of his tool belt. Across the street an old man sits patiently, curiously too patiently. I confess I cannot understand the habits of the elderly, spending hours at a time sitting aimlessly on a brick wall watching drivers in various cars confuse themselves at the apparently unmanageable four way stops downtown.

I was Headed downtown to eaves drops the pointless conversations between strangers in numerous coffee shops. Some conversations seem an appeal of bloodless voices, an eager attempt to reach the unattainable. One of the most senseless things to occur is when two people passionately argue the same damn point. The act of agreeing just seems too colorless.

We both gently put weight on the gas then tapped the breaks. {Pausing} Then again, ever so gently, placing weight on the gas and yet again, slamming the breaks. I wanted to, wanted, to roll my window down screaming mindless incoherent curses. Ruination. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, and it was the age of foolishness, it was…” time for this brainless sonofabitch to learn how to drive!

He past, slowly, and eyes me as if this disaster was somehow entirely my doing. His car almost slowing just to mimic his gaze. I could just see him mouthing: “Gentle whispers of the undead along worn path, beaten cries dissolve a child's laughter. Once in a moment’s notice a silence broken by a trumpets call. I, your demise, have warned the oncoming and..."

I blinked.

It is oncoming, it is never ending, and it is unavoidable. Windowless and tired. When you stare at one thing long enough it becomes something else; it becomes a shadow of something you are, an echo of something you where and a glimmer of something you ought to be.