They gather around the dead fountain in twos and threes, as the sunlight leaves the coolness creeping into shadows, on the grass. They sit, and talk, or don’t talk. Do you feel the peace of this darkness, see the bugs in the grass? hear the roar of the city this night? Do you know yourselves at all? The headlights of the patrol car reach around the building, sweeping the figures’ shadows on the grass. After they get cold, they leave.
1 August 1971