African songs praise morning and the sun. Icy glare off a car's tinted windshield. They talk about work and the theatre. Two men in suits, another pair, decide which architect will be best for their offices. Outside, the street becomes itself, choreographs buses, subway stations, carpools and parking lots, taxis.
Time is more like a movie, the expert on the radio claims, than a continuum.
Each instant a frame to be sliced and let go. So moving forward and back isn't all that impossible. Travel through it, then, juggle this pre-taped sequence of whims and lost chances. They'll all turn up again. A man, older, enfolded in tattered rags, materializes, searching for shelter from the cold wind.