Three young men confronted him for a second time. He passed between two of them, squeezed by their shoulders.
A shapeless old woman bumped him with her back as she shuffled past.
Two children dodged in and out screaming and seized his arm to turn on.
The young dramatist stopped and remained standing still, looking about him.
Then he laughed.
“Life,” he murmured again; and
“I am the old man,” he added, “I ... I....”
Depths
Crowds began to come out of the buildings.
They came in streams and broad waves, breaking in a black sweep over the pavements and spreading into a thick long mass that moved forward. The glassy lights cut the twilight drizzel with their yellow fire. The tumult grew until up and down the street an unceasing din sounded, shrieking, roaring, clanging noises.