The new key fits the old door off the porch of his house. The world is damp now; the birds yell at the sky. Rain slips past the eaves to the soft grass and ground. The old man waits all day by the street. He drags his pail to the curb; he waves to the kid on the bike. Cars swoosh by. It all smells new. My heart aches. Clothes lay on the bed, on the floor. Files, fax, phone, chair, desk. These things frame me and, out there, the rain goes on, the pail waits, the kid, on the bike, flies by. The day, gray, sings to life.