It was nothing
We see him everyday in our passage, a figure barely visible in the hollow midday shadows of an alcove doorway, always — regardless the weather — in a dark raincoat and dusty bowler hat.
With silent eyes he observes the street and its mundane of traffic, the occasional pedestrian and the even more occasional attempt at parallel parking. We wonder what those eyes make of the overwhelming ‘nothing happening here’ that we always find in this place that — to us — is only a space between one place and another. Like the stoic gull perched day after day on a piling at the end of a pier near a little used marina in the off-season, we wonder what has brought him here. What could he find here? What could he be waiting for?
As we turn the corner, we pass a person opening a cellphone and — seeing the time — become suddenly aware of the need to rush to our next stop. Picking up the pace we almost miss noticing — at the far end of the street and coming our way — a whirling herd of collies led by a tall and gaunt man in a faded felt fez.
