TULSA — Five days a week, a city wakes up before his eyes.
Chains remain on the doors of an abandoned apartment building. He takes an alley behind a tavern that is still sleeping off the night before.
Church bells toll. Wind whips the flags atop buildings.
He stops at a crosswalk to admire the skyline, majestic against a blue backdrop.
In a parking lot outside a soup kitchen, the homeless sip coffee in the sun. Workers surrounded by orange pylons saw a hole through a sidewalk, creating a cloud of concrete dust.
Emergency lights flashing, a produce truck idles in front of a restaurant. He waves at an employee inside a deli, his favorite lunchtime haunt.
Turning the last corner, he is stared down by a graybeard sitting alone at a bench. Three men, drinking beers wrapped in brown paper, converse around a garbage can.
The walk, seven blocks and 10 minutes, is over. He reaches for a key card and unlocks the day.