the angry man eats lunch alone chris ransick All morning, I watched the traffic pile up at the stoplight below and later, I watched finches fight a terrible November wind to reach nests on my window ledge. I know someone is dying somewhere this morning, struggling to breathe in a sunny room, speechless, staring into the eyes of his aged love, whose hand he grips so tight with final strength the last thing they share is pain. You can judge me how you like. I will never learn to forget this. I’m like a child hungry in bed, unable to sleep, headlights passing across the torn paper on the walls of my chilly room. I will wait to grow more powerful, I will remember whose teeth were black with lies.