a street with lamp posts and gutters, a street with automobiles and drug stores and black stains that could be the

  scuff  marks  of  hundreds  of  shoes  listening  to  marching,  or  car  oil,

  or blood. During  a  death  march,  time  was  endless  and  yet  too  involved  to  be

dwelled upon. A mother's child, a whispered language. The bare faces of the crowd are far away and small with

 
         indistinct  
features             as 
       smudged charcoal.