from the edge of the end

It was dusk. They walked along the river. The sun slipped between the columns of a building and spilled in stripes down the front steps. A group of children tumbled out and down the stairs, towards a school bus. He whispered something in her ear, something that made her laugh.

Down by the water, the trees cast long shadows along the concrete. They stepped about the tips of the treetops, across the silhouetted branches. Her hand left his arm every so often to curl her hair around her ear or to fuss with the buttons on her coat.

They walked up the steps. It was empty. Except for one man.