Streetlight down through the tree makes confetti on a six o'clock black shadow sidewalk. Nicholas sniffs at the bushes. From the glowing second story apartment window above comes music, chiming bells and the voices of the Nineteen Eighties: Feed the world, let them know it's Christmas time. It repeats and repeats and then, instead of fading out, just stops, and we walk down the sidewalk in city morning quiet, that hum. At the edge of the next apartment building, between the bushes, are two pancakes, flecked with ants.
Coming back the other way, heading home, we pass under the same window, and the Band-Aid song is playing again. Over and over: Feed the world, let them know it's Christmas time. Two male voices over the music, laughing and talking about Michael Jackson.
Coming back the other way, heading home, we pass under the same window, and the Band-Aid song is playing again. Over and over: Feed the world, let them know it's Christmas time. Two male voices over the music, laughing and talking about Michael Jackson.
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