The condemned man clutches his lucky penny. He paces the park, famished, recounting incurable injuries, condemning the scoundrel in him, banishing the swindler, pleading with his jury to show no mercy. The grocer watches from his doorway, recoiling from the dreary display?he has goatcheese and radishes to consider, turnips under intense surveillance. A limousine squeezes through the traffic, smothering the thoughts of little people. An errand boy percolates down the sidewalk, cracking codes in his mind, lumping forecasts and rituals into sure treasure by tomorrow. A plump and dusky woman with something on a leash pauses to inspect some loaves’ and peppers, licking her lips and speaking a private language to her nervous pet, who’s ready to croak. “Fiber, Mrs. Zumstein, fiber’s the only thing!” the grocer quips, swatting flies from the lumpy morsels. And, across the street, a net is dropped from the trees. Men in blue costumes fan-out and sweep through the park. Dogs pick up a scent in the breeze and dash yapping over the ridge where, in their teeming zest, they up-end a baby carriage and frighten a young mother nearly to death. The condemned man briskly apologizes to his condemned god and withdraws from the park quietly.