{...[Adams & LaSalle]...}

[He, crouched at the base of this street sign]

"Brother-Man...

...would you like an orange? {(or two (or three))}"

[looking into his cup, midlin to coin...]

"I thought it was just a dime…"

[I follow his hand--lined with thought--further, to see silver, and gold imprinted with shield, and winged talon]

"…She dropped two: dollar coins…I had no idea…"

[holding two mandarins in my outstretched palm]

"Thank you."

[reaching; grasping the moment...]

"Another?"

[hypothesis eyes; hidden by hood; partly-protected from the chill -12C wind; intent upon the recollection of moments past; dis-belief in the face, of forgotten memories; blurred by familiarity, in frigid habituation; monologue repeated to stave-off knowing that which no man should ever know]

"Yes. {[…]} Thanks."

{[I will never meet you on this street, again--my Brother; my Friend--but I will gather my selves around your candle when I feel a chill, and your warmth I will always remember…]}

--the SW corner of W. Adams St. & S. LaSalle St.; Chicago, Illinois