The wind grips with icy teeth and this older man
throws his bicycle out a front door onto the side-
walk as I pass. When I arrive at the Laundromat,
I’m startled by a sleeping man on the floor. And
now as I wait in front of this steamed Cambridge
Street window, a hearse parks in front of me and
I see two shiny rims and my reflection in the just
-waxed black.


