Yesterday, I saw the wristwatch. He was wearing all black again, even a black backpack. We walked together off the light rail and then he stopped, turned and waited for the crosswalk to get to the other side. I took the opportunity – not breaking my stride – to look at what time it always is for him. I think I saw 9:30. I wonder if that has any significance? If he was born then. If his mother, grandma, father died then. Usually when something is tattooed like that it means something – but maybe that’s just me – maybe he just needed a time; a few more seconds; a reminder that we have more than one opportunity in time – the night and day. And then there’s always tomorrow.

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