““They each look down now, although not yet at each other. Cabs, whistles, bullets; buses, screams, small sobs; people singing, sighing, pleading with dogs to shit; from the long streets the clang of textures bumping into lampposts; the soft fall onto the ground, like leaves, of seven thousand flyers bearing news of who was out for tonight's performance; the audible thoughts of select citizens, taxpayers, permanent residents. Today I worked; I loved; I tried.””
