Tuesday, September 1, 1970

Fig. 013

This is what appears to be an excerpt from some journal of sorts. It was found written across several matchbooks.

The wind has chilled me to my bones. I have a jacket on. It does me no good. No good. Ha. Isn't that something? Music blasts all around me. Only I hear it. I've been standing atop this bench for an hour now. I am cold. Where are they? I hate waiting. I am composed. I must wait. They will know it has come when they arrive. I hear footsteps. I see orange. It is time.