And now, traffic.
This morning, I saw a running man. He passed by my home, panting, limping, running desperate. I tried to stop him, but he would not meet my eye.
This noon time, I saw a running man. He was coming down from the mountain holding a bag. His knees were bloody, and face covered in tears.
This evening, I saw a running man. He was leaving town, legs pumping like a terrified heart. I think he was missing a hand.
Is it that he wouldn’t meet my eye, or that he had no eyes? Now I wish I could remember. There are many things I wish I could remember.
This has been traffic.