The sidewalk is clearer than expected.

Nothing particularly bad had ever happened, in the house or the car, but he couldn’t bring himself to move toward either one. Sometimes, the only place with no memories at all was the sidewalk out front, and despite its frustrating ambivalence about contributing to grudges, regrets, or happy recollections, the sidewalk was the place that called to him the most. He wondered how long he could sit there without being seen. A kid went by on a bike and didn’t say a word. A nanny pushed a stroller and actually brushed against him with one of the wheels, but still no words. Moments passed, and he felt like he was taking them. Like they were ill-gotten moments, and soon someone would have seen him, maybe on one of those bowed drug-store mirrors, and he’d be forced to give the moments back. For now, though, he wanted to be on the sidewalk, and that was going to have to be just fine with everyone, or else.

Currently listening to: Fiona Apple, Extraordinary Machine; Dr. Dre, 2001; Timeless-A Tribute to Hank Williams