"life is a series of small things"

yesterday i saw a man save a bat. there was a commotion outside of the window, over-looking the parking lot of the strip-mall plaza, in the coffee shop where i was sitting. i couldn't see whatever it was that everyone was looking at, as it was right against the wall. the expressions of the people outside who were a part of this commotion ranged from disgust and fear to curiosity and amazement. some one pulled the patio chairs away from the outer wall to give this unseen object some room. the man sitting inside at the table next to me took four quick sips from his paper cup and then stood up. he used his one functional arm to grab the walking stick positioned next to him. his other, non-functional arm hung heavily at his side; it looked longer than the other and it swung, ogre-like, as he walked to the door. all of the curious and frightened people outside dispersed as this man, full of simple intention, walked towards the object that was causing all the fuss. he shoved the end of his walking stick underneath the table and along the brick wall. everyone's faces turned to surprise; one woman clutched the arm of the man next to her. the ogre-man continued moving his walking stick along the wall and when he reached the corner, i was able to see what it was: a small black bat, smaller than a tennis ball, fluttered half-heartedly and then fell back down to the sidewalk, its wings collapsing under the weight of flight. the man patiently stood next to the bat as it lay motionless. then the man pushed his stick underneath the bat and held it up into the air. the bat flapped, and flew. its flight dipped and wavered over the asphalt. the man held his one functional arm up and open in a salutation or a long goodbye, like he was waving away a trans-atlantic ship. the bat gained strength as it flew and it disappeared up and behind the apartment buildings.

on the subway home from a play i saw downtown, a security guard was sitting across from me. he was holding his briefcase and a blue plastic lunch-box. he took a book out of his briefcase and checked the time: 11:05 pm. the book he was reading was "every time i say no, i feel guilty." he removed the bookmark from within the first 20 pages or so and his finger followed his path across the page. when he reached the middle of the second page, he sniffed and closed his eyes.