Before the clouds release their cold drizzle, he sits on the lip of an inactive fountain and sings "Stand By Me."
Some of the leaves are wrinkly stars. Others are broad hands and tear drops. They're everywhere; above, below.
They make fun of the way she talks, so I stand up for her.
A grizzled man dances on roller skates by himself, the music from his radio subdued.
The leaves spatter the surface of the lake like gobs of paint. The trees lean over the water to examine the painting in progress.
The water tower crouches at the edge of the building like a great mechanical spider about to pounce.
At the post office, a long, shuffling line. Everyone has the complexion of cheese under the sickly lights.