SIDE WALK Between the streetlamps there are regions of dark. You can't see anything, your vision melts away to nothing. I want to help--I always want to help--and in the murk I get to be cau- tious. Caution is one of my strongest traits, I'm very good at it, and here it is helpful. "Curb coming," I say, or "step up," or "the sidewalk is a little rough here." I take your elbow, I walk so close to you that our thighs brush and we have to establish a mutual rhythm. My caution now spreads out like the light from the streetlamps, and I worry what we look like. I am in a car on the street and I see two men walking in an embrace. Do I turn my head not to see, do I point the car at them, do I become excited? I am almost en- tirely caution now, and I have spread myself up and down the street. I am in all the houses, peeking out the windows scandalized in each of my secretive living rooms. I hold my breath, dangerous to myself. I want to help. I want to help.