They did not take out their clubs and beat him but I did see through the tree limbs and the gaps between the cops, the man crawling on his hands and knees on the cold pavement stuffing his belongings back into the trash bag he was using to carry them in. When he had repacked, he scuttled off onto Lincoln Boulevard, baseball hat pulled low, trash bag on his shoulder. They let him go

As soon as he was gone the officers relaxed some. They stood around another couple of minutes.

Well, lets see, last time I saw you was at the thing for Francis, in the summer.
Is that right? Wow, it has been a long time.

They chit chatted in groups of two or three.
Then they decided almost at once, without a word said, to move on.
They all waved to each other and seemed genuinely pleased with themselves, and they got into their cop cars and drove away.

That’s it?
Yeah I guess.
I thought they were going to arrest him or beat him up or something.

I checked my email again for good measure.
Connecting securely to G mail.
Getting list of messages
1 message downloading…

I had an email! Something was coming in. It was taking a second to appear and in that time I allowed myself a fantasy;

Dear Eli,

I love this play… I read it, and was amazed by it and read it again, you are a truly gifted writer—

Human rights watch?
Human Goddamned rights watch!

I glance over what they have to say, Tibet, Darfur, the Soviet Union, The Palestinian Territories… all the usual suspects, all worse than ever. Things are bad out there.

I turned off my computer , and closed the shade. I brushed my teeth with my electric spinbrush™ by Crest, which almost a year on still does not fail to please me, and got into bed. I woke up some hours into the night and I wondered why the man who did not appear to be homeless was carrying his clothes in a plastic sack, and did he really love the woman or did he think she was a bitch or both, and did he feel humiliated as the cops watched him put his clothes back into his trash bag or did he feel lucky that they did not beat him silly. Did he get what he deserved? Maybe he deserved to be beaten and then sent to prison to be continually raped or maybe he deserved the dignity of a suitcase with wheels to carry his stuff in. Maybe he deserved a second chance at making love work, or maybe he had blown all his chances already.

I go back to sleep.

In the morning, I checked my e-mail while the kettle was still boiling but, Sunday holds little chance for validation. Validation never comes on a Sunday. They say it’s the Lord’s day. Luckily Monday always comes, with it’s dull glimmer of hope.