I had time to kill that morning, so I had myself dropped of at a coffee shop. I wanted to linger.

They were serving breakfast, so I had an egg. Afterwards, there was brisk table turnover, so I was expected to leave. In America, you must move on.

I remember well, sitting on the bench in front of the old yellow Shell station-store, sipping on the coffee I had just bought there. It was not too chilly, and the sun was out, as I watched the homeless come and go.

I was probably remembering the past then too. Maybe mornings on Englewood, where you could hear two church bells moving in and out of synch. There was no nicer sound.

Soon afterward, life moved on, leaving me running to catch up.