The forgotten man.

The man who forgot himself rises out of his cardboard sleep into the concrete morning to relieve himself of hunger. Everything has acquired use - trees have become lampposts, deer have turned into taxicabs that whistle down Park Avenue on cloven tires of rain.

He walks among the citizens of this canyon and sees himself reflected in plate glass, blurred by blue buses, yellow livery, gray commuters that dash across his own dim image in the shiny panes.

Eventually, when he recalls his faceless face upon well-fed mannequins does his life lose sense. He sees himself shop after shop with his palms open to tokens and change, open to a currency that will carry him through elements that are benign, where the trains that rumble beneath the surface wheeze silently all through the screaming night.