It was nothing new, the noise the dust the people complaining, the filth of life and no one asks, and no one questions, and everyone grumbles, and jostles and I take my lot and then some more while I am also robbed. It’s all a part of it. and then I saw his pointing hand. was that me he was pointing at? but the noise of life commanding my return. why did my heart race? I looked back up and there he was, again, it was me … he was looking at me. his hand still stretched out, drawing me, demanding, compelling yet somehow offering …. my heart in my mouth, I looked around. surely not me, and up to the surface all the filth, I could hardly breathe … and there he stood, silent, looking, pointing … and in that instant my life began to change …