You pause at the subway entrance by the blind woman. Every evening she shows up for the commuter rush, rattling her cup, hustling for coins. Tonight you press your bagged lunch, uneaten, into her hands, then pull out the crumpled twenty you found wedged in your pencil drawer. She mumbles thanks, so you stuff your hat and leather gloves and the Ray-Ban's your ex gave you last Christmas into her waiting lap. So many riches, all at once, and for the smallest instant you wish you were her, you wish you were anyone but yourself. She leans closer, she smells of grease and raw onion and the street, and peers into the Xerox box hugged tight against the curve of your hip. When you question the veracity of her condition, she laughs, a smoke-smoothed cackle, and you think, what does it matter?
The escalator whisks you silent into the dim bowels of the station. At the bottom, the box thuds at your feet: mug, wedding photo, the 25-year pen. You think you should feel lighter, somehow unencumbered, but you don't. The platform trembles. The cold rush of air precedes the oncoming train.
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Perfect. You tell just enough and not too much. You paint in details with a master's brush. Fine work.
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The details in this are rich, put in just the right places. Solid.
Beautiful and sad, Linda. *
Linda, a fine touch to this sad circumstance. *
Jack, Christian, Kathy, and James -- thank you for the read and the very pretty stars on GONE. Very much appreciated. Peace...
Oh, and thanks also to the mystery fave-dropped ;^) Peace...
Quality prose. Another pretty star.
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Ah, thank you Bill for reading and faving GONE -- I always appreciate when you read my words. Peace...
I'd fave this for that last line alone, extracting a brilliant metaphor from one of those common moments that go--until now--unmentioned, this is the art we strive for.
(Not that the rest isn't terrific.)
David, I am always honored when you read my words. That rush of air, pushed through the tunnel by the train, always shakes me. Thank you for your generous read and the fave on GONE. Peace...
Love the giving of the found twenty. Nice touch.
There is so much texture, originality and empathy in your work, Linda, and this is no exception-- a quite excellent micro
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Ha! So much accomplished in two tight paragraphs!
Your lyrical lines sing like the best prose-poetry. I love the generous gift of the twenty, and that last line which says VOLUMES with such precision. You captivate me over, and over, and....****
I felt this one. Above all else, it's real.
Perfectly written with economy that leaves elbow room for the well chosen words and those they connect to. Very fine writing here. *
Larry, thank you for reading GONE -- wish I could find me a twenty! Peace...
James, thank you for reading GONE -- try the 52/250 challenge -- tight is right! Peace...
Amanda, thank you so much for reading GONE. Yes, it is real. Too real. Damn economy. Peace...
Michael, thank you for reading and faving GONE -- your generous comment makes me very happy! Peace...