at five o'clock in the morning, everything is still and the streets are empty. that's what one would expect: yet there is a life that goes on: crows cross the street with their resolute step, approach the cars chosen well in advance, call out to each other their morning news, sit on rooftops and adjust tv antennas to their favorite programs. unlike humans, crows are never in a rush. they pass from garden to garden unhurriedly, enter unfamiliar kitchens and enjoy quiet breakfasts at the table, peck through the morning paper, and scrupulously balance their accounts. at five o'clock in the morning, people are entirely unnecessary.

If one can say of breath that it is well-articulated, like a word when it is pronounced with clear diction, then what I heard in my ear, as if someone were leaning over it after I had been lying awake for quite some time, waiting for the sun to come up, was a single, well-articulated exhalation. I could almost recognize the sound of voice that seemed to reside in the breath's inaudible wake. Yet there was no word; only a fleeting presence, overheard, intimately sensed, and inexplicably absent.

Drugstore hypocrisy:

 

For sale at Boots pharmacy: DOUBLE FACED PADS.