Giacomo says, be the flame not the moth. Things always crackle when they burn, wings for instance, also a cigarette, but I'm all right here on my own by my bag on a stair. The dog everyone calls Jeans, which is ridiculous because it's a shortened nickname but still recalls a denimlike texture and this is a dog we're talking about, this dog sniffs at my toes and gives up and goes off to sleep. It's the third time I've seen it go to sleep in that particular spot, huddled up in that particular way. We all pick sides and seats and we are unable to be alone by ourselves without reaching for our cellphones, how true. I almost call but I don't, how does it matter. Ultimately I'm going to walk all the way to 8b and sit at the bus stand, a thing I rarely do nowadays, and just sit there for some time staring into nothing, it's a nice place to be in. This is what I'm mostly good at, loving things from a distance in a vague bovine way, everything is interesting and everything is amusing so why fly closer. This is my thing, both my craft and my sullen art, stupid as that sounds, and till it changes, look, an almost-accident. People gather, time to go home.