But there was no kid, and there was no tin left in his hands, but there was one on the ground. Somehow he had slipped his gaze and fled into the electricity, maybe, fitting in with the endless sea of heads and children and the milling, maddening crowds; and the man was standing there, bagel in hand, tin on the floor where the half-eaten sweets were spilt into Central Park, watching the chill of the world fall slower, slower, on the carolling roofs and running, laughing little joys of the world.

The rabbit (or other small game-creature-thing) would be hunted; right after he placed the second cookie in the boot. It was only fair for t

Focus. I have to go to bed now. It’s late and I have work in the morning. I’ll sleep and I’ll forget this and delete the conversation in the morning and go to work. And then I’ll flip burgers and finish my lecture videos. And then I’ll remember I could’ve been catching up with you after I clock out. Somewhat. Sometime.