Eldena Ruin, Caspar David Friedrich
11,515. One day, several years ago, I was driving to work and as I turned down Linden, I think, I saw a body, a man, lying face down on the sidewalk in front of the line of stores on the opposite side of the street. I remember thinking, that guy looks dead. And another thought crossed my mind: he’s been stabbed to death. Really, I’d no clue, but something about that body–its absolute stillness, face down, on the sidewalk, in the early hour of the morning, as if somebody had dropped a wool coat on the ground. Some images stay with you no matter how long ago they were made.
One day, as I sat stopped at a red on Ocean, an elegantly dressed old lady caught my drifting gaze. She was slim; she wore a navy blue silk suit of impeccable tailoring and navy blue heels; her hair was silver, salon-coifed, and she carried a black briefcase. Lawyer, I thought, or senior-level CPA. She appeared to be in her seventies. Her face was delicately lined, her back straight, her stride purposeful; I couldn’t see her eyes, but I imagined they were ice blue, vivid, sharp, and still twenty.