Who knew.

Walk in the night. Lighted night. Positively brushed up the look of the street, the lights. Like a bunch of scam artists had sneaked in under the cover of dusk and touched it all up. He saw their handiwork. Glib lights and conspiring curtains. Quick, quick, hide drabby sun!

Lone steps sound ahead. Thin frame, slow walk. The face still obscure, waiting to be seen. Wonder what his story was. Maybe someone with a kid. A dead kid. Beats his wife, her eyes remind him of the dead child. Alas! no more imagining, the face arrives. Framed in a black hood. Shocked eyes. Wrinkled skin. Lips sealed tight. Ears invisible, under the hood. He searches for the right words. A ghostly face. A thin ghost. A malnourished ghost - will frighten for food.

Cars whoosh by on the left. Dark sleeping houses on the right. Makes me the sane equilibrium, I guess, he thought. The face still flashes inside his head. He tries to shake it off - let's try baby faces. Smiling baby faces. Smiling like they knew exactly why they were there. To smile, of course. And gurgle and drool and dirty diapers. Of course, what else. Some old uncles could do that too. Smile like they knew all. Ways and rites, highs and sighs, foam and butter, nights and tides, paper and pickle.

He tried to curl his lips. The all-knowing smile. Was he overdoing it? Was it symmetrical? Relaxed the lips a little. There, that must be it. The all-knowing smile.

But he couldn't keep it up for long. The frown set in again. Curtains of the dark, gaudy lights, baby smiles, uncles with kind eyes, all a sham. What lay beneath? The throbbing pulse of the world? Its vile bile? Who knew.