An old man whose black face shines golden-brown as wet pebbles under the streetlamp, is walking two mongrel dogs of dis- proportionate size, in the rain, in the relaxed early-evening avenue. The small sleek one wants to stop, docile to the imploring soul of the trashbasket, but the young tall curly one wants to walk on; the glistening sidewalkentices him to arcane happenings. Increasing rain. The old bareheaded man smiles and grumbles to himself. The lights change: the avenue`s endless nave echoes notes of liturgical red. He drifts between his dogs` desires. The three of them are enveloped - turning now to go crosstown - in their sense of each other, of pleasure, of weather, of corners, of leisurely tensions between them and private silence.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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