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a real life by David Fishkind |
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Julia goes to bed at four and Jon and I can’t go to bed. The train won’t be here for a long time. There are still no stars. This is the darkest time of night. Nobody and nothing exists at four o’clock. We walk up and down the streets to keep ourselves moving. All the train stations are locked and barred shut. I am begging to get on a train. My feet hurt. At four thirty we sit across the library by the fountain and in the fountain are a multitude of soap suds. They clean the fountains at night by putting soap in? It is four thirty and all of the traffic lights are blinking instead of running on a time schedule and the city is asleep. Jon and I sit and wait and wait and walk through a field of sleeping homeless people. Our eyes are out of focus. We lie down on benches but fear sleep and being mugged.
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