Sunday there was no work. When he woke midafternoon and walked uptown the place he had his coffee was closed. He was able to buy a paper at a newsstand and a package of cigarettes and sat on a bench reading and smoking. Some few people passed, on foot, in buggies and gigs. It was only with a report as a gunshot high on the hill over the town that he realized the quiet was also the stilled quarry works. He put the paper down and listened as the sound came closer and rounded a corner onto the street, a small two-seater automobile with brass fittings, balloon tires and no doors. Once on the level the backfiring stopped and the machine accelerated and sped down the street, the driver wearing goggles and cap and the woman beside him muffled in white muslin gauze. He stood watching them go. It was only then he realized everyone had been traveling in the same direction. He followed down to the south end of the street and crossed over the river and came to a park. There was a grandstand and a trotting track, both empty, the track only bearing the beaten pocks of the night before. But people were eating picnics on the grass and there was a game of baseball. Along the river in the shade of elms men were fishing and boys in dark tights were swimming. In the shadow of the grandstand was a small cluster of concessions and he bought a pasty from a ginger-haired old woman with blooms of color on both cheeks who grasped his shirtfront and pulled him close to smell his breath, declaiming in a thick-tongued Scottish accent she’d sell none of God’s good fare to drunkards. The pasty dough was tough and still raw inside and the stringy meat and chunks of potato tasted old to him. He lay on the grass midway of the picnicking families and those watching the ball game, supporting himself on one elbow to survey the game and the crowds of people. It was all slow and stagnant. Watching, it seemed to him everyone was only defined by their others, as if their chatter, their animation, their display was all for those observing. He knew there was reason for him to be out among these people. He felt himself in motion, not unlike the small boys swimming in the river. Pulled along to where he’d end up. He lay on his back and watched the thick-bellied summer clouds, vaulting against the pitched sky.