Commuting 8/9/06
There is a woman with a chain of dogwood blossoms around her neck, golden against her dark skin.
The girl sits down next to her boyfriend, looks up into his face and smiles. I can see where her crow's feet will emerge soon, and he kisses her forehead and they settle into their books and their commute.
The man next to me changes the angle of his face and I suspect he is reading my magazine. I am leafing through the New Yorker, looking for the fiction section. When I pause at a spread with cartoons on each page, he laughs, and I ask him which one he likes.
posted by ttractor @ 10:12 AM
2 Comments:
dogwood blossoms - lovers - the New Yorker
I like your eye for the subtle interactions & permutations of the City
awake & dreaming you are
R-M, awake and dreaming, I like that quite a bit. I wish I could turn my dreaming into a kiss, which I seem not to be able to do these days.
Hi A! I have missed you!
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