A Pedestrian

He window shops. He yawns.

He checks his watch. He sips his Starbucks through a spillproof lid.

No one knows who he is or what he did except a black van loitering down the block. He buys a pack of gum.

Briefly, he stops to crouch and read the headlines of the Times before continuing up 12" and Vine. His neck prickles.

He slows. The coffee drops

And before it has landed he's off like

A hound at the races he is hurdling strollers & ducking a chilidog raised to the mouth checkered taxis grow fists

As he cuts into oncoming traffic our cellular phones clap shut-in amazement look billowing trenchcoats give chase fleshcolored earpieces dangling a flush to their faces