Urban-jungle Boddhi-tree

I was wandering across town the other day, it was a Sunday afternoon with the weekend just beat— regardless of well, anything at all— no purpose, nowhere else to go & nothing else to do, really. I ended up stumbling upon this drawing of the Buddha— spray-painted in black stencil upon the lower concrete walls of the would-be fountain flanking the museum— and...

There was this book by Jack Kerouac, right? Back in the fifties. That he wrote about the Buddha. And there were these words he used...
There was that sentence— “There is no hiding in a shattering dewdrop.”— whatever he meant by that.

I thought about it for a split-second or two, shrugged, and crossed the thronging avenue towards a McDonald´s for an ice-cream cone.