There is lay. Alone. At 12:30 on a weekday, on a bench in the 4th Street Subway station. Red, wrapped in cellophane and abandoned. For whom was it intended? Did that person not mean enough so that one could just walk off without it? When did he/she remember that they had forgotten something? Could they see it out the closing door, with no recourse? I thought of picking it up and presenting it to the rather pudgy lady making her way, trudging actually, ahead of me. But second thought was, let it lie and speculate on how long it will be there, or what will happen to it next.