Dublin: 4 Seasons

She returned to the old man on Clanbrassil Street. He was still there, on his crate, though now the pigeons were fewer. His name, she learned, was Mr. Singh. He had come from Punjab forty years ago, had run a corner shop, buried a wife, outlived two sons.

The first sign was a single brown leaf on her windowsill. Then the light began to lie. Four o’clock felt like midnight. The city pulled its coat tighter. Lorcan grew quiet, then quieter. He stopped closing his eyes when he played. 4 seasons dublin

She sat on a bench near the fountain, which was turned off for the season. A girl, maybe seven years old, ran past with her father, chasing a football. The girl fell. She didn’t cry. She got up, brushed her knees, and kicked the ball again. She returned to the old man on Clanbrassil Street