2nd Revision--

The man with the beard is crossing over to the other side of the street. He is smoking a cigarette. His stride is long. He makes his own path on

the grass not using the sidewalk. Pace remains constant.

Sounds of Detroit give passerby’s eyes, I nod to a woman wearing the navy pea coat. She has the same ipod as me.

The man with a beard is crossing towards the street, a cigarette dangles from his lips.

I look down, my nose feels cold.

A couple laugh at the intersection. They are oriental japanese or chinese? . I can hear their voices but I cannot tell.

The man with the beard crosses over to the street, cigarette swirls smoke, grey sky snaps a black and white photograph.

Looking down now, the woman of the couple smiles, silky dark hair flows like a curtain, the first act opens.

The man with the beard has long strides, his face does not have a mustache.

Looking sideways at her, the man of the couple is a few inches taller than her his profile is razor thin, her left hand flattened tucks her hair

behind her left ear, she is listening to his voice, his smile is genuine, do they know what they are saying?

The man with the beard is walking towards the street, his strides are swift, elegant fingers move the v-nested cigarette back to his lips.

My parking garage displays above the other buildings. As I get closer the edge spirals like a cathedral, to my right, across the street is a

museum,

After eye contact the single woman and I fiddle with the settings on our ipods. Tight braids tangle with the earphones.

The man with the beard is crossing the street, he has long strides, red tip flashes at the end of his cigarette.

Between the buildings a breeze gathers the cold and empties it onto my back. The intersection is now all concrete. Behind me is the woman

listening to the ipod that was just like mine. I cannot remember but I guess what she is wearing is the same thing she was a moment before,

whenever that was.

Cars rev waiting at the red light.

The man with the cigarette is in the middle of the street, he is approaching the curb on the other side.

As the sidewalk diverges, the couple step in unison, right leg taking right forked path, left leg taking left forked path. His hand gestures a
an efficient wave. I am passing her. Traces of light scatters, curtain flips under her chin and covers her face.

The man with the beard has reached the other side of the street.

Awkward companionship, the asian man’s path is next to mine, his pace is faster. I have forgotten about the woman.

My parking garage is visible ahead. A man in a long coat is looking my way. I smile, he nods, instead of an ipod he carries an instrument case.

It could be a violin.

The man with the beard tosses his cigarette onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Ashes break apart become part of the wind. His

stride takes him up the steps towards the museum.

I did not see him again.

I am skipping the next song on my ipod. Appreciating the building that prevents the wind from finding me.

The man with the beard must be inside the museum, are his strides still as long, what does he see?

Angling path converges, the asian man turns to the left, the man with the violin case pauses at the door that ends that path and opens it. The

two men shake. The door clicks shut as I pass it. I forget they were there.

My chin tilts down, I look at the sidewalk and see traces of footprints left by the shoes of the man with the beard who was crossing to the other

side of the

street.

There is a slow-core song playing on my ipod.

I am sitting at my computer reading a blog, itunes is playing that song. Lambert is asking for fiction.

My mind hits play.

The man with the beard is crossing over to the other side of the street. He is smoking a cigarette. His stride is long.

jeqal