Зима тревоги нашей

           Iclosedthealleydoorslowlyasyou’dcloseavault.ThefirsttwosheetsofpaperIfoldedcarefullyandplacedinmywallet,andtheother—Icrumpleditandputitinthetoiletandpulledthechain.It’sahighboxtoiletwithakindofstepinthebowl.Theballedpaperresistedgoingovertheedge,butfinallyitdid.

           ThealleydoorwasalittleopenwhenIemergedfromthecubicle.IthoughtIhadclosedit.Goingtowardit,Iheardasmallsoundand,lookingup,Isawthatdamncatononeofthetopstorageshelveshookingoutwithitsclawsforahangingsideofbacon.Ittookalong-handledbroomandquiteachasetodriveitoutintothealley.Asitstreakedpastme,Iswipedatitandmissedandbrokethebroomhandleagainstthedoorjamb.

           Therewasnosermonforthecannedgoodsthatmorning.Icouldn’traiseatext.ButIdidgetoutahosetowashdownthefrontsidewalkandtheguttertoo.AfterwardIcleanedthewholestore,evencornerslongneglectedandchokedwithflug.AndIsangtoo:

           "Nowisthewinterofourdiscontent

           MadeglorioussummerbythissunofYork."

           Iknowit’snotasong,butIsangit.