The Parable of SunlightIt's a rare sunny day, but the streets are strangely quiet, ![]() as if arrests have been made, or are about to be. ![]() Head down, heart bending, I start across the square. ![]() The fountain is dry, stained in dead leaves. An old man, with the drab, diligent face ![]() of a lifelong student of numbers, scatters bread crumbs for the pigeons. ![]() I pretend not to notice him—it's safer—and in seconds, reach the far side, ![]() where bodies in the early stages of decay hang like gray rags from the trees. ![]() I glance back at the old man. He's watching me, and I wonder why ![]() and whether tomorrow is supposed to be just as nice as today. |
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