The Block
All that rain has dimmed the fires now. On the opposite side of the road, a man wails, his hands holding his face. Sharon can’t help but notice one of his ears slipping down the side of his neck. No one to blame but himself. She looks away, and does up the top button on her cardigan. The arthritis in her knees is flaring up again. Like one of her husband’s old manual camera lenses, she tunes out the locals’ suffering, bringing those sharp flames of personal familiar pain into focus. You’ve prepared for this, Sharon.