Today at Dana street there was a young boy of about 4 years old with his parents of indeterminate middle-eastern / Mediterranean extraction. She surely was French-Algerian, or Lebanese and he was surely Persian or Greek.
In any case the boy, obviously worn out and of no age to be overcoming his fatigue with the choice beverages for sale at this establishment collapsed in a big teary-eyed cataplexy for no apparent reason.
His mother put him in her lap and he leaned against her shoulder, heavy lids growing heavier by the moment (no help that the only thing of interest in his line of sight was my grizzled mug).
Looking back at him i thought of that thick layer of subcutaneous fat in his face that threatened to puff his youth into androgyny and I came to realize that the reason the young stay young is that as we age we feed that fat as layers over our hearts.
We use it to forge a shell of scar tissue around all our hurts, grave and trivial until we are gaunt and look, in one fell moment, adult.
And that my friends is how we wake up, one day, not sure why, but strangely at peace with the day our d?mons fix.