The human was quietly seated there on the space black, metal bench. Thinking about his life and the world. Mostly he was curious about the expanse of time and his momentary presence inside the Time Box. What would his life mean at the end? Where would the other’s thoughts turn to?
He stared into the inexistent distance. Really, his vision was stopped at a small tree. There the birds flew in and out, making noises in the air with their beating wings. The wind made the leaves on the treetop sigh. Commerce was heard in the street nearby. Traffic made its way thither and yon. But the man paid no mind. He was focused. Or rather, complacent to the blur of sounds and motion around him. Only the tree and the dark-feathered birds caught his attention.
He wished he’d meant to be there. That all was in place. And that he had control over it all. But what he could not anticipate was the sullenness of occupied time. That is, there was nothing to be confident about when it came to the proposal of motion. That was it. And he knew it at least.
The birds continued to dart in and out of the young oak with a tenacity that was oddly auspicious. The man himself was well aware of his own uninterested interest in the birds. He moved his brown-shoed foot from across his knee down onto the brick walk underneath him. This position had been adopted and retracted several times. “Oh boy,” he thought. “I must stand up soon, my legs keep falling asleep.”
It was more than likely this tiny, innocuous thought that broke him out of his reverie. “I suppose I am what I am,” he said. “The only thing to do is find out who that is.”
The man stood up, stretched his leg. And walked toward home.