Comment

Walk down the avenue. The city avenue. Let it be winter. Dusk sifting slowly down, hugging the bare street.

Shops light up at random. Kids seem less eager to clutter up the way. The hum of night is lurking in the air as if he were ready to fold his hands over his stomach and sigh: "Well, there goes another day!"

His thought drops into your chest. You think: "Another day. A hundred years from now the same remark will drop into someone else's heart with equal dismay."

You notice the bulb is out on Segal's sign. Joey is wearing glasses. The skinny girl next door is coming home from work. Youth is wearing armor. A hundred years from now the same night will make the same concession over the same things with this difference: YOU will be gone.