Observer With No Story


She watches and knows all the mundane things on the street below.  There are no stories, not for her.  She “sees and she thinks”, she thinks from her two-story perch.  “Thinks as she sees”, with nothing to say about it all.  An artful surveillance.  Yes!  A story just might start.

She sees him now, staring down at his phone, standing on the corner as the drizzle begins.  He shrugs his coat closer and glances up briefly, across to the bus that has finished it’s stop.  He waits – and she waits.

Across the street a small commotion arises as people disembark, but the crowd does not carry his cargo, then dissipates.  He stares down again at the phone in his hand.

The mantle clock ticks and chimes lightly as the gray drifts down on her shoulders.  His face is glowing and she captures his age – “so young, so young”.  He pockets the phone and crosses away with the light.  She lets the gray fade to darkness.  She lets him all go and she watches.


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