Morning Scene

Opposite him at this table again and through the windows the city glittering, surreal as a scale model, the city in miniature — only it moves in a real way, because it is real. One of the windows is open, some construction down on the street drones like a distant vacuum. It’s warm for January. Still, his apartment has that dreamlike quality of feeling like home though I know it’s not. Not mine anymore — but how many people get to visit the past without hurting anything? To come back and drink the same coffee from the same never-quite-clean cup?