Sunday, October 31
I listen to the city coming to the day, the roar of buses, the hiss of coffee machines, the clang of church bells. I watch as leaves eddy from the trees, cascading to the ground, feeling an autumn chill in the air, the shy soubrette of winter.
I stand in the center of City Hall, at the nexus of Broad and Market streets, the shortest line between the two rivers, the beating heart of Philadelphia. I turn in place, look down the two great thoroughfares that cross my city. On each I will be known today.
The dead are getting louder. This is their day. It has always been their day.
I put up my collar, step into the maelstrom, the killing instruments a comfortable weight at my back.
What a saraband.
Zig, zig, zag.