I saw something worth mentioning yesterday. I was walking along Fourth Street, on the way back to the office from my lunchtime walk, when I came on a homeless man urinating on a cigarette. When I think back on it, I remember seeing him hunch over as if all the breath had left him. Then he dropped the cigarette half smoked. And then, with faintly bent knees, like someone with a bad back crouching to expel their bowels, fiddled with his fly. A thin leap of piss struck the sidewalk and began wandering its aim to dribble on the mark. A woman who happened to be standing outside the Fuller Building across the street crossed her arms and turned her back. I walked right past. When I looked over my left shoulder, though, he was leaning with one hand pressed to the building, as if the strain had left him half-conscious. He cocked his head my way, as if he could hear eyesight. It was a strange, but subtle enough exchange I almost forgot it.