By the salty, polluted river, the grass is long and glossy. Purple flowers and soda cans nestle in it.
Worries are better dealt with outdoors. Not in the confines of a familiar room but in a wider space with water, trees, and people.
A caterpillar, small as a piece of macaroni, squiggles on my neck.
A woman is simultaneously playing the violin and hula hooping. Packing her talents together in the hopes of collecting more money in her violin case.
She keeps lowering her book with a sigh. The whoosh of the passing cars distracts her. I've written it off as background noise, like the wind. After she calls attention to it, I pause to listen, and I realize how much noise I accept as a given, just a part of life.
Toy sailboats find their balance on a sheet of dark water.
Rain comes down in thick continuous clots and spatters like white paint on the street.