It's early morning, the sun also rises over Watershed Heights for the last time. Surprisingly, the power has been restored. Surprising because of the storm that occurred the night before. Lighting and thunder boomed among and amid the tenants and towers of Watershed heights. For two hours, puddles gathered and joined one another along the streets, washing them clean, if only for the few hours in early morning. As the sun stretches across Calloway Blvd., the fountain gurgles once, then starts to pump water and the sound echos against the walls of Watershed Heights. Perhaps those who arise from the subway tunnel will be confused for a moment. "The fountain's working?" they will murmur. Perhaps pausing for a moment to remember something or someone. The street sweeping truck whirls down Maple Ave. toward the police station and seems to quiet the policeman standing outside smoking a cigarette. He watches the truck, takes a long pull from the cigarette and tosses it just in front of the truck as it passes. He watches the brushes whirl the right signal lights blinks and it goes around the corner only to reappear across the parking lot. The policeman lifts his eyebrows, "Can't remember the last time I saw that truck in this place." He says to noone in particular.
The fountain's reverie is interrupted by the heavy grunt and relief of Bus 75 as it stops to pick up the few who ride. They, too, have been looking at the fountain as the sun catches the lifts and falls of water. They are jostled out of their quiet as the bus whistles to a stop. The sign on the Eazy Sleep Motel flickers once and then darkens as the sun catches the rust and neon.
Jude C. Wright stumbles up from the entrance of the subway and stops when he sees the fountain.
Loli Graciela is one of those who is standing at the bus stop waiting for bus 52. She needs a job, a purpose, and this bus is going to take her there. She, too, is mesmerized by the fountain.
Charles Stevens, for some reason, is sitting in the portico of the Old Cinema. He looks as if he's been there all night.
Margorie comes out of the basement with her head cocked to one side as she eyes the green hued wall, looks-up and immediately heads across the street to the fountain.
Cecili Thompson, plagued by insomina because she tried but failed to give-up her writing habit, is seen walking through the old playground. She looks-up from re-reading her journal when she hears the sound of the fountain. Bleary-eyed and nervous. She stops and her journal falls from her hands.
As the sun just comes-up, Blanket Cobb is opening the door to the roof garden. He is seeking food. Although he doesn't actually plant anything, he has grown a fondness for eatable weeds. He is poking through one of the unused beds.
Aaron Gallagher's bedroom window was open that early morning. He is awakened by an unfamiliar sound. It reminds him of Vivaldi for some reason. He got-up and promptly found the right record to play. The four seasons. He looks out the window to see the fountain accompanied by violins.
Paul Newman is walking into the diner. He had forgotten to get pie. He had smelled it the night before but forgot to go because he became so caught-up in his own thoughts.
Finally, Aaron Pernie, for some reason, is standing across the street, in the middle of the basketball court, all alone, looking at the fountain and grinning wildly, eyes ablaze, like a man possessed.
And finally, as the day dawns, three poor souls are dead.
Remus, Agnes Monaghan, and Leland Jack. Nobody really knows how they died, but they are dead.
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