The newspaper hits the sidewalk.
I bend over, get it, remove the plastic wrapper and check the obituaries.
In a week, I usually know two to five names – dead.
A woman walks past.
Her mother pushes a walker a half block ahead.
The woman says, “That’s it. I’m moving her to Chicago with me.”
I put the paper on the porch and walk to the coffee shop.
The dawn breaks pink.
A former saxophone/clarinet dance band leader, baseball player, too, sits in a corner.
He plays computer solitaire.
His coffee cools.
Too focused he is.
Tomorrow’s paper is a day away.
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, mid-May 2015