I have no deficit of attention. If anything, I have too much attention, and a skin as thin as a grape. Just on my walk home from the library, I noticed the following things: the broodly alcoholic who sits on the porch with his dog drinking beer all day is still there. He still doesn’t want to say hello. Rounding the corner, I came across an elderly man and woman, reading on their veranda, surrounding by gladiolus. He was reading a newspaper and she a book. They looked a picture of balmy contentment. Further up the street a crack in someone’s fence revealed an entire Chinese family of many members sitting on the lawn on plastic woven carpets, playing some kind of game. And across the street from them another elderly woman who is always busy with her garden was sweeping up frangipani flowers from underneath an enormous tree – a hopeless task which she does with gusto every day. I noticed that tonight the sky got a rosy pink and a far away church lit up a cross on it’s roof, neon-blue. I noticed that there are birds on the telephone wires, and on a faraway football field a group of little boys played a big match. World, you have my attention. You are beautiful.