she holds her cup with a somber look. i walk by and our eyes lock. a faint and automatic, “God bless” vacates my mouth, leaving her for the cold night ahead. a feeling of commiseration comes upon me. then i see it, a grin. a spiritless wrinkled face, beams with joy. human benevolence is her ecstasy. i feel that our interaction is over. my humanity dissipates into the sounds of the train arriving. then I hear it, “have a nice day, gonzaga.” the sheer volume of those words. for that split second i am intoxicated with peace. then, she’s gone. a mere voice -- lost until tomorrow.
HENRY SULLIVAN 66
HAVE A NICE DAY, GONZAGA
a sound, that reverberates in my mind -coins clamoring together inside a dilapidated mcdonald’s cup.