Nevertheless I have something against you, because you have left your first love.
I walk the green strip above the river for a couple of blocks, and it's all quite pleasant; a dog walker or two, non-suspicious eye contact, a half-nod, a quarter smile. Then I come upon him grimly staring into the rising sun, a bottle of Beck's in hand, five empties in disarray around his feet. He's dressed for a night of clubbing, apparently with a poor outcome, his jaws are clenched, eyes fixed. I want to ask him on a scale of one to ten with one being "We are all deserving of Salvation" and ten being "I want to watch this whole Motherfucker burn" how he feels right now, but I don't. I believe I already know and I remember well the bitter taste of that libation. At the end of the green strip I cross the empty street, worry for an instant that the young man might jump into the river, wonder if I should go back and check, and completely ignore the question and continue on my way.