All I see is a chicken here. Every time I climb these stairs and look down, there’s that chicken, staring back up at me.

There’s a line from Richard Shindell’s Last Fare of the Day that won’t get out of my mind:

Into the stream, we pulled away
I know it well, this old ballet
Finding the flow, minding the sway
Catching green lights all the way

The picture isn’t much, but I love the way he sings, “sway.”