5056. IT'S TOO EARLY TO CALL IT LATE

IT'S TOO EARLY TO 

CALL IT LATE

More to do with lights and lighting than anything:

the way that subdued, blue tint hovers over your

face. Lights upon the table, and lights atop the

floor. I see chivalrous spectres and ghosts, far

too polite to be scary, waiting for things and 

nodding their jovial heads and strange hats.

No one holds out a hand in greeting, instead

it's more like stares and smiles together.

What a strange gesture all of this is. I can

remember walking into the old GM Building

at the area near Central Park, and seeing even

there the dead scurry off : hulks of cars, large

and wide, Sevilles and Impalas, things of that 

nature, being bragged of and parked on the

showroom floor where nothing ever moved

though all about were cars and such things 

with wheels. Anyway, all of that's gone now, 

and there's an Apple Store and a toy store

in the space  -  FAO Scwartz, to be exact.

It's all removed from space and time anyway; 

just a thought, here, by your face, in the

subdued lighting, at a time of day when  - 

really  -  it's too early to call it late.