Only $19.99. But order now and we’ll double this amazing offer. Ricky! Ricky! What Lucy?! What do you…the amazing power of the Lord… the distant screeching sound of bus breaks and the machinic hum of a bus’s enginethe water running, brushing, gargling, the faucet closing…wake you up tomorrow morning? um around…the occasional tremble of metal frame windows car tires cutting across wet pavement the creak of a doorblankets rustling warmth comfort driftingsilence silence silence

They walked down the avenue. The storefront windows showcased the most amusing trinkets. They came to a corner. A French restaurant? What’s on the menu? “Look at all these delicious entrees.” Le poive l’bleu cordknots. L’bleu cordpoive Le’snokt. Bon Nouche frommage petitë. “Oh they have Bobouche frotage pínpín! You’re so thoughtful.” “What if we went to France?” “We wouldn’t get there until 2 a.m.!” “Oh.” A car zoomed by carrying the mayor to a very important meeting, smudging the watercolor streets and splashing the sidewalk with shimmering, silvery technicolor liquid.

a fading siren

I’m crossing the street with Jason. We’re going to walk through the park. I need to go to the market to get some fruits and vegetables and I should go to the butcher too. The party is tonight. What a lovely afternoon it is! The leaves are orange and golden and brown. But it’s so warm I don’t have a sweater. “I’m excited for it,” says Jason. “Autumn or fall?” I ask. “Both. I have a theory about it,” he says. I feel excited to learn the secrets. “Well people are different throughout the day,” he tells me. “I know.” “When you’re a child your mind is like,” he reveals to me. Yes that’s how it is, I know. “But when you’re older your mind becomes like clocks. Analalytical. You think in a rigid pattern. You don’t have free association anymore.” Ah yes, I see. And it’s the same throughout the day. In the morning after waking up your thoughts flow and free-associate “but then you wake up a little and they become more structured” and in the evening they begin to get creative and the dream logic takes over little by little? “Yeah, dude. That’s where my art comes from,” he tells me. “In the autumn it gets dark earlier. The balance of light and dark changes. The dream logic has more power.” That’s why you become more creative and philosophical and you feel more. “Exactly,” Jason says. Wow. “And the cold makes you contract inward and so the stars begin to be brighter and the sky gets darker and the air smells like magic and mystery.” I think I understand now. I zip up my jacket. It’s chilly out here. What about in the winter? “In the winter there is too much dark.” Too much dark? Chaos? “Madness and prophecy. What’s that?” Jason whispers, looking down the road. Something is on the ground. Why is that girl laying on the cold ground like that? “The store is that way. We’ll find out.” We approach. That isn’t a girl. It’s a woman. She must be 67 or 68 years old. “She was shot,” says Jason. She’s laying on her back on the street. Her eyes are wide open, wide wide open. I don’t see any blood. “She was shot in the back.” Jason checks her pulse. She’s dead. “Jason, you have to do CPR. You’re a life guard,” I say. “Corpses don’t have life,” he says. The sky darkens and an icy wind blows. It penetrates my festive grey and black sweater and chills me. The leaves shiver and fall from their branches. They are swept away by a mighty and fearsome gust. The corpse. I sense some sort of emanation from it. Perhaps it’s her soul. “Why does she look like a clown?” I ask. “Jason? Jason?” Who would want to kill a clown? “Plenty of people,” says an old lady standing by a tree near the curb. “I didn’t say anything,” I look at her. “Haha she’s not a clown. That’s her make up.” I wish I could have helped her with her make up. Bright red? Hot pink? That blue, metallic blue, reminds me of snow. “Well, what about that wig?” I ask. “That’s her hair. It’s bleached and permed.” Floral prints. She must be Russian. Well that explains it. “She must be Russian. No offense,” says Jason. It’s okay. Wait, you’re Russian too. “It’s okay. We should call 9-1-1,” I say. The ambulance appears from around the corner of the next block.

Its red and blue twirling lights hypnotize me. It’s so beautiful. The lights shimmer over the sparkling, silvery snow, illuminating billions of tiny ice crystals with glowing red, blue, and purple light. The corpse! “Over here!” I wave, “I told them, by the fire hydrant.” “Jason, it’s snowing on the corpse,” I say, “what should we do? Jason? Jason?!” I don’t know where he went. I wonder what would cause one to leave a person at a time like this. The corpse is starting to look like a napping snowman. Snowlady. The ambulance people put her on a contraption of some sort and wheel it away. “What happened?” one of them asks me. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it,” I tell the person. They get into the ambulance and take her away. It’s dark and cold now and I’m alone on this street along the park in the snow. I enter the park. I’ll take a shortcut. I walk along a path. It’s lined on one side with lonely benches. Beyond the benches is a great, ghostly white lawn. I think there may be spirits out there. On the other side is a dense intertwining blackness of naked trees and bushes. The somber tangle protrudes overhead as though it has been frozen mid-pounce. Icicles hang glistening from barren branches catching the light of intermittent lampposts. The path is bright in the lantern’s light but darkens to midnight blues at equidistance between them. The clouds trap the city lights. The sky glows a purplish orange grey. I have that feeling again. The feeling of an emanation—from where, I do not know. The end of the path? I see it! There’s something ahead! I begin running. I run and run. I’m almost flying. The path ends abruptly in a precipice and I barely stop in time. “What is this?” I can’t believe my eyes. I look out. Have I reached the end of the earth, I wonder. I see only endless ocean illuminated by the greatest brightest moon I’ve ever seen, larger and more luminous than any moon can be. Suddenly I know I must sleep. I lay myself down in the snow and gaze up into the winter night. The stars rest their light upon my tired body. Under the watch of those bright and vigilant diamonds I close my eyes. I begin to sense the deep, hidden order of the universe, all things unfolding in a sacred clockwork through time.

I wake up on a beach. I inhale deeply and the sea air fills my lungs as I stretch my stiff heavy legs. I begin to walk. As I walk the bright day greys out into dark night. In the foggy distance I see lights come on. That’s where I must go. I head toward the lights. I arrive at a boardwalk. The boardwalk is so busy. Their are people everywhere. I hear conversations, laughing, and shouting. I hear the subway rumble in the distance. I hear the wooden boards rattle as skateboarders and bikers ride across the the boardwalk. I watch three young children playing with light-up toy swords. I hear the children’s parents’ conversation from a nearby bench. “The fireworks will start any minute,” a big round man says to the children. I breathe in the summer and the happy commotion. I swim in the sea of hustle and bustle and in the communal experience of a perfectly humid sweet Friday night. I feel that I’m a kid and I’m up late and tomorrow there is no school. I decide to walk closer to the where the fireworks are along the sand. On the water are countless sail boats out to enjoy the fireworks. The sail boat’s lights reflect dimly on the calm water. Their distance from the shore makes them seem friendly apparitions conjured by summer’s spell. I look up to see the stars. The fog has lifted. The boats are revealed in perfect detail as the midnight ocean blazes with moonlight.