Thursday, January 27, 2005
Ahead a man is lying on the pavement. Your step slackens, you glance around you; there is no one else near. You approach and grudgingly ask him if he is alright. “Yeah. Fine,” he slurs. You continue, taking him at his word and absolving yourself of neighbourly responsibility for this casualty of the city. “You’re going to be snowed in tomorrow,” he says. You look up at the cloudless sky. “Maybe,” you say, “it’s very cold tonight.” “Very cold,” he says, “there’ll be snow tomorrow.” He’s gone by the morning. The streets are clear.
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