The Life of the City

The whole city could be seen reflected in the surface of the rectangular flash bulb of his Canon AF35M II. Or at any rate, that of it which seemed to him significant. There was the old city wall and the first line of buildings. And there was the sky, with, piercing it a good ways to the left, the white spire of the Cathedral. City, church, and nature were represented there. His wife had an automobile accident and broke her arm. His daughter was once again mended, after falling off a horse. His own health was excellent. Of the city there were both the political, governmental aspect, represented by the wall, and the private, familial aspect, represented by the buildings, which were houses. His daughter had been arrested for dealing drugs. His wife was under the care of a doctor, for alcoholism. He himself was dying of merely having been alive—for eighty-five years. The camera was gone. The city wall was still there, but many of the houses were gone. They were replaced by enormous “high-rises.” These buildings were colored a darkish yellow, mainly, or a dark pink. That was nice, he thought. He wasn’t really very old at all. He was going to meet his wife for the first time, at a dance in the Old City. Inside the city walls a few old buildings were, apparently, crumbling, but he was young enough to not even take care as he walked past and around them. The young woman was lovely. The spot where he met her was covered by a large shiny pump.