The park's path ended on a sidewalk. To the left was a bridge over the river. Across the street from the side He was on, the bridge had a pedestrian walkway. For a moment he thought about turning around and going home, but what would that bring? More emptiness, more waiting for...for what?

He crossed the street and began to walk toward the opposite shore. The street lights cast pools of luminence out onto the road, and the residual light spilled over onto the footpath. In cities there was always too much light. Too much clutter. Looking up he could barely make out a few stars overhead, strange he thought, that sometimes increased light can make things more difficult to see. The stars, dim through the smog and lighting that hung over the city failed to move him. He stopped to gaze out over the water. He was in the middle of the bridge now, and had a clear view out over the river. It was a good vantage point, there were no buildings close by to interupt his line of site, and he could see the office buildings in the distance stretch out toward the sky. They towered like temples of a new golden age, pointing to the deity they worshipped. It was a romanticization, he knew it, the deity they worshiped was money. Finance and commerce, even the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. What was the persuit of money for? Men spent years chasing after a career, a station, a fortune. And all that time there youth slipped away, precious time they wasted stockpiling their gold. And for what? So that when they passed out of the world there would be a shiny pile that they had never used. A great shiny pile of shit born of the labors of lesser men.

He sighed, and turned his gaze from the skyline down into the river. It was dark, and it churned where it hit the bridge supports. The water only showed it's power when it was disturbed, it only applied force when something tried to stop it. He admired water, he admired the patience of the river. Winding this way and that, having no hurry. It knew that it would meet the sea.

The water looked cold and a gust of wind bit into his skin through his jacket. The physical sensation caused him to start from his reverie. He was standing on the guard rail of the bridge. Fear shot through him. If not for the wind, what would have happened? As he pulled himself back over the rail the fear drained from him leaving an emptiness in its wake. The emptiness filled with the joy of life, of living. He looked up at the sky again, and the stars looked brighter.