Can’t but watch them sometimes, the insane who patrol their corners of this city – This fellow here, pacing in big circles and decrying all the losses of his life in some language nobody passing by could ever understand.
What a circus, this mad Mick Jagger gabbling away his testament of grief. His few greasy bags piled by the streetlamp.
The only thing that kept him grounded was the shift of his eyes – like lasers – they flickered all over us ordinary folk passing by, looking for contact.
Not with me though, not me , not today, not me. Not me.
Half a block on I stopped walking and turned back, turned back and sought him out over the heads that thronged their way between us – and I saw that he had also stopped his madness, and he was looking over the heads that thronged between us – seeking me out.