There is this thin, old hippie who suddenly appears, and climbs the corporate hill that rises from the grass where I spread my blanket on my lunch hour. It is a deserted hill and the grass is a perfect emerald green, but it is bound by office buildings and parking lots. I lay on the blanket and descend into a relaxed state, often dozing off. At some point I sit up, to see this wizened, long haired old man, wearing a putty colored t-shirt, crossing the green below me, towards the hill. We regard each other speechlessly for just a second, then I quickly look away to avoid eye contact. He reaches the crest of the hill, and then he is gone. Where does he come from? Where does he go? He passes soundlessly as a cloud. He is an apparition.