FLOCK

He walks the same route home everyday, walks everywhere in fact. Even in his dreams he walks, walks right over that cliff. He hasn't walked his dog in a few days. Notice how people just walk right past him. Notice how he walks with his head down, as if the beauty of the sky is mirrored somewhere beneath his feet. He walks deliberately and precisely, with the determination of someone with a definite and important destination. Destination unknown. He could walk for hours and often did and if you were to ask him what he had noticed on his travels he could describe art, recite the feel and movement of pavements like they were poetry. But he didn't talk as much as he walked and his steps were often all you heard.