fruitlessAt the bus stop, on my way to work, I notice that my watch has died. It is mildly interesting to watch the second hand twitch only just barely enough to move to the next second every several attempts, but my hand is getting cold. I look up the street with no idea how soon my bus will arrive, and feel like a pathetic fool for doing so.The tepid winter sun casts dramatic shadows across the street and warms only when the breeze is at rest. I am glad to be on the sunny side of the street, at least. An underdressed mother holds the hand of an overdressed child, occasionally expressing her anger at the child's unwillingness to stand quietly still. A young woman sits on the bench, headphones in ears and thumbs moving wildly across the phone that her face shows no discernable pleasure in manipulating. An elderly woman with a cart sits at the other end of the bench, clutching her belongings closely for fear of things only she can imagine. The occasional whiff of coffee and french-fries penetra
wendingThe yellow crown glass admitted fall hues that fell solidly to the carpet in the hall."Is this what you want?" he sighed sadly.In the heavy silence, an indifferent bird sang cheerfully outside."It is what I want."She was slumped on the doorframe; she couldn't face him. The mildly musty smell of the books in the room she faced reminded her of the happier times as a crystal tear found her cheek.He struggled to find the words to say, and resigned to, "Well ..."The distance-muffled click of the door latch shattered her heart and suffocating heaviness brought her to the floor. It was done.An indifferent bird sang cheerfully outside.