That clothes-pin couple, both over 80 and under 5 feet, they spoke about me in their made-up language, holding hands, pointing at things, walking down the street. He had a fanny-pack; she had a camera strung around her neck.
The do not walk sign was blinking my heartbeat and the driver in that car going past, blasting my favourite song, must have done so only because I asked him to.
The woman calling a cab was really calling my name, and when the street car driver asked me for my fare, I said, Don’t you know who I am?
