Late February night in London.
A silhouette of Everyman, glanced as on so many nights before.
But this time an image change. A new shape made out in the dusk:
head bowed to hand-held.
Oblivious to his surroundings, inwardly inhabiting a different space.
Everyman is everywhere but here and now.
"Just look up!" my heart shrieks.
This is the moment.
This is the place.