Damp pigeon morning

In the park, one man sits alone on a rusty bench, crumbs in hand, rained on by both sky and fountain.

On the bus, one woman moves over for a new friend. Despite her hard face and all that I had assumed about her life, this hopeful, eager smile breaks my heart.

Hot

The morning is oppressive, the kind of swampy heat that rolls past my window like melted cream.

Shirtless, hose in hand, he stands barefoot in the center of his lawn - a silvered suburban buddha watering his subjects into submission.