Today I saw a man lying on the grass wearing little more than wellington boots. I could not guess what he had been doing. And a cart, left in the road, with ten bags of ice, dripping, melting fast in the hot sun. And in the river were dead fish, all striving ceased to breathe the dirty water and as a tourist on a stretcher was being put in an ambulance, fighting to get off over in the crowd, the disappointment of another man, who had had everything stolen from him, now trying to get home, listening to the shadows whisper from a woman, standing perfectly still in the moving mumbling, her ideas close to a beggar, dirty and old and a small child, shaking the tin beside the road, pleading and looking in everyone's eyes.