The night has gotten cold. The rain has finally stopped. The sky is clearing up. A star can be seen.

In the distance, a horn honks. The wind blows.

I stand under a building that is far taller than the tower of Babel. God must have gotten fed up with knocking it down.

No one else seems to mind.

Again, I notice the wind across my face. It stings, but only a bit.

A businessman runs to the subway, briefcase in hand, his coat streaming behind him. I wonder why he was working so late. Was anyone waiting for him at home? I wonder if he has a wife and kids, or a dog.

I walk over to a flower shop, out of place with the tall monoliths, and buy a white daisy in his honour.