And i can’t be running back and forth forever between grief and high delight. J.D. SALINGER, FRANNY AND ZOOEY The scorpions of the clock are still rotating within the smoke in your room. I remember the distressed cooler sound and the man Ran in the dark. The streets are still shouting. The pine is no longer here, neither the old water, just the newspapers that wriggling in the gray shade of people and the waiting swings have fallen asleep under the dust for years. The Father