From only six stories high I can see the top of every roof in the city. Too many colored lights reflect off the glass side of a skyscraper. The sound of sirens sends pigeons into a frenzy. They too seek shelter. It is a Sunday afternoon but to the man standing under a bridge holding his resume in hand, this means nothing. I pretend not to notice although where I sit I am able to see all. Handicapped spaces occupy most of the parking lot but none have been put to good use. I look at my watch, it is time to join them.
January 24, 1999