|
In the late of night after missing the last Metro-Rail North at Grand Central Terminal to Cortlandt, one is wide awake and wanders to the peace of Central Park, where skyscrapers loom and light up the edges of the park and, in the quiet, something stirs in the brush. A quick, threatening movement of solid footsteps rushing over a carpet of autumn leaves and up the wet path one is, at first, startled seeing a peculiar boy carrying a trash bag . The boy approaches, drops his bag and hoarsely whispers, "hello...". One is not alone.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorCHARLES PEARSON Archives
December 2021
Categories |
Proudly powered by Weebly

RSS Feed