Transfer Student

Jens walked down the sidewalk in bare feet, letting old leaves crack beneath long, Danish toes. He liked the slow hardening of his feet beneath him. He sang, in elemental English: Why she had to go, I don't know, she didn't say. I said, “Something's wrong!” Now I long for yesterday. He was experiencing a rapid series of new thoughts: Every man is all men. In every organism, there is a microcosm. This sidewalk may still be warm from the passing feet of a beautiful girl. Then he stepped on the band-aid. It wasn't a normal band-aid, warm from the passing finger of a breathless child. It was a band-aid specifically for knees, a huge, pentagonal band-aid with a soft heart, a heart that held the yellow and blood of a serious wound. “Jeg bande den dag du var fodt!” he snarled. “America!”