3:2

A man stood on the corner of 17th and 9th; not back against the building nor in the shadow of the boulevard trees, but right on the corner, his bare toes hanging off the edge of the curb like a surfer’s riding the crest of the perfect wave, perfectly in balance, poised in the moment. He swayed gently to an internal rhythm, making no move to step back nor step forward onto the street, and he stared out, eyes absorbing everything but looking at nothing but his own soul. The frenetic movement of the city’s cars and trucks going about their day’s business buffeted him in their wakes but he swayed and bent without staggering or moving off his spot.

The man watched and waited as the sun slowly moved the shadows across his view.