vision

Approaching Market Street, chatting about the gathering we'd just departed, my companion fussed about his bearings, unfamiliar with the lay of the streets and unable to make out their names on the poorly-lit signs. I made light of his disorientation and joked that he was getting older and blinder. "Do you think so?" he said. The tone of his voice made me look, and I saw him take his glasses from his nose, swivel his feathered head toward me, and stare a moment with great blank owl eyes before shooting up into the darkness above San Francisco.