Ed is out there in the rain with paper that will not survive the flap. I am on the other pavement with a guitar case that is not mine. I am only walking Ania’s weather because Nancy wanted air and then did not. I know the difference. He sees me. He offers a sheet across a distance that does not close. I do not cross. Crossing would be choosing the last war in public. I know the difference. The print is already blooming. Whatever it says, it says it wet. I think of Nancy’s appointment letter, which at least has a time on it. These sheets have a smile and a promise of being heard. I know the difference. I live with a man who does not, yet.
