Before Your Time

In the days before plastic, all the buildings were made of glass. They called it the Prism City, and it gleamed like a crystal from the bottom of the valley.

It was an estate city, where the barons of industry built their dream homes, where their philosophies became architecture. They were great men, men with no secrets, no shame. They ate their dinners, trimmed their toenails, made love to their wives--all in plain view.

I was a young man then, still waiting for my own greatness to emerge. I survived by polishing away the streaks; I made that city glow. I would stand on the edge of town with my scrub brushes and suds bucket, watching the boats float down the river. Sooner or later, one would pull ashore and an estate holder would hand me a map and keys.

It was the first time I saw my own reflection.