I WAS PAID TO DIE
All that stuff comes together - outside, the city
sweeper, wetting the streets, nearly empty, as it
rolls along its pre-dawn way. The two men in
jackets, trading cigarettes as they exit their car.
The strange lady with the briefcase - way too
overdressed, I'd say, for post-midnight Summer
air. 'I'm here to attend the Apocalypse,' was all
she would say to me. I hear that metallic bellow
which seagulls make - they are swooping in, as
if in trouble, from the nearby harbor on the
east end of the city I'm in.