Then he sat on the sidewalk at night. A car passes and the driver tosses him a packet of cigarettes. He flips the pack open and lights up.
The crowds flow upon the city streets, beneath the lights, entering diners and cafes and theatres and cinemas and restaurants and bars and nightclubs. Everybody was out to be seen and nobody notices.
He waits. He knows not what for. He pulls a note from his shirt pocket and reads it again. He shakes his head and spits. He crumples the note and tosses it into the gutter. A small child, wrapped head to toes in rags, runs up, snatches the note and disappears into the passing throng.
A girl of some twenty years sits down. He gives her a cigarette and a match.
“Do you love me?”
“I don’t know you,” he replies.
The beautiful girl draws upon her cigarette.
“Does that matter?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Then do you love me?”
She does not smile. She cocks her head to one side and brushes short shaggy hair from her face.
“It is good to be loved. Will you come with me?”
He puts out his cigarette.
“No, my love. I must wait.”