Hope.   The surface of the water reflected the beautiful sky, as if it were made of mirrored glass.  The air was fresh, the slight chill nipping at his ears as he stared out over the Lake.  It always looked the same this time of year, always looked so picturesque.     He sat on the bench, watching as people milled past him.  He liked people watching, liked thinking up stories for them, imagining what sort of life they had.  He watched as a small boy chased a dog across the frosty grass, his