It is the one thing in my life that has always remained constant. Like a skyscraper in a dense suburbia, its tall, engraved body rises above the despondent shuffle of the rush hour below. The guiding beacon still sits at the head of the towering pillar of steel. The very same beacon, which lit the path of my childhood. I remember now, my slow trips home from school. As I dawdled slowly up the street …showed first 75 words of 537 total…

…showed last 75 words of 537 total…a man with much to do and not enough time to do it. I stride away, down the street. I trod this path for many years, however, always towards my lamppost. I have seen it now, for one last time. As I walk away, I count the other lampposts as I pass them. I countdown from thirty-three; this is the number that will stick in my head until the light of my beacon burns out.