the morning air slithers off of me like a wet water moccasin, sliding down my back and over the cement: between bottle caps, melted and dried ice cream, crushed flowers and bits of old condom wrappers. Cunningly he flows down and then up the skirt of an older woman in a maroon 50's style dress, the kind with the short sleeves, thin fabric, knee length skirt and a tie about the waist. i am suddenly transported to a day when life was deemed simpler. I pass on taking the bus, for the purpose of absorbing as much of Astoria as possible before i am whisked away by the subway. The row houses, the birds, the paint in blue and brightness. A married-looking couple in suits kiss and take opposite directions down the street. They must have had a shower together, sipped from the same pot of coffee, both laughed when the dog rolled over for a bit of bacon. A strange twinge. The recognition of the rhythm of life.