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a real life by David Fishkind |
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Everyone leaves except for me, Jon, and Julia. We run down Newbury, with nobody filling its narrow, pricey boutiques and sidewalks. We get to the Gardens and it’s beautiful at night. We run in, thirty feet inside its gates you can’t hear the surrounding traffic. We dance in empty fountains and on benches. There are homeless people asleep everywhere. At the dock there is a homeless person next to us and we don’t notice. We sing “Knife” and “After Hours” and “In This World.” We can’t believe he didn’t wake up. Jon says something loud and we run away.
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