Peace be with you

The street was dark with rain. A slowly blinking red bicycle light, then beyond it the neon yellow helmet covers of two men standing next to the wall. I glanced back and forth between the bicycle (which looked like it belonged to a student) and the two men, trying to remember if this always meant a cop, or if they were simply safety conscious, environmentally friendly commuters. My glance was carefully unfocused, as I’m learning the trick of never making eye-contact downtown. The policemen were doing an excellent impression of "The Men Who Weren't There." At their feet was a crumple of clothes.

I perceived the deadness first, then realized that this poor huddle had been a young man moments before. His head, covered in a bright orange stocking cap, was pressed deeply into the concrete; his two hands lay precisely on either side. His knees tucked under him as he rested absolutely in an extreme kowtow to a violent god.