Corner of Fifth and Fifty Seventh Street. Cornelius Christian seated on the twin brass outlets of a fire hydrant sticking from this stone wall where it says Manufacturing Trust Building. A solitary stroller a block away. Sanitation department truck, grey lumphing insect vehicle squirting water and spinning a big brush along the gutter. The traffic lights change. Green yellow and red. And a breeze blows my dreams abandoned down the street.
Charlotte said I was drunk and disrespectful. To people who were only trying to be nice. Made remarks that I was an undertaker. Embalming their dads. Tired broken work horses silenced after screaming wild in their nightmares. Begetting the little sons who grew up as gods. As honest and brave as dad was crooked and coward.
Charlotte had tears in her eyes. As I left her on her steps.
"O Cornelius you don't mean the things you say. The country is not like that at all.'' I leaned to kiss her.
