This is an exercise, not a finished product. Thanks to everyone for the suggestions. I chose to go with Tej’s assignment because I didn’t want to write about life-changing events or do any of the more writing-exercize-y writing exercises. And mostly because I was going to go to a busy intersection and sit by a big window and eat a sandwich anyway.
“And it’s OK
For the setting sun
Will color everything around you gold.”
–Andy Partridge/XTC
Off Leash
Busy urban streetcorner. Cars seem to fly through the intersection and busses chug by like tugboats on wheels. Everything’s lit from the side in the early evening. A mass of chaotic motion, people dragging long shadows over each other, cars about to fall into the abyss of shadow in front of them.
The sound of traffic is the externalized internal dialogue of all the drivers and passengers and pedestrians. It’s a crazy vocal mob scene but no one’s talking. A dozen or so people waiting for the bus at the stand; their eyes full of internally-recited lists, plans for when they get home, checklists of things to get at the grocery store, re-enactments of today’s minor embarrassments and joys, the not-really-blank blank stare, avoiding eye contact with their fellow riders. Somehow these stories end up emanating from cars going by, audible to those who know how to decode it.
From time to time one steps out of the shadow and into the glare, holding up a hand to shade the eyes, gazing due west, straight into the setting sun, anticipating the approach of transit. No luck. Back to the retinal safety of shade.
Traffic, traffic. Traffic. The bus eventually comes, each edged detail spattered with golden sunlight or severe shade. Or both. The riders pile on.
Then, a strange synchronicity. At the exact instant the bus pulls away, an older man with an aluminum walking cane comes around the corner toward the bus stop. Also, at that exact instant, there is no more traffic. All the lights turned red, perhaps, or everyone just gave up trying to get home. The streets are strangely empty of traffic, just for this moment in time.
The man has a dog with him, off leash. Neither looks like they’re actually trying to get anywhere. Both are worn down by age.
Dog’s coat reflecting golden sunlight like ripples in a pond. Except for the gray parts, the slow parts, the sag. He’s sniffing the bushes planted along the sidewalk. The man wanders on, ignoring the dog’s dalliance.
He’s framed in the light. Wispy hair and pale skin with halo.
He keeps his own pace in the awkward stillness of the rush-hour city block. In his own time, he gets to the next corner and rounds it. It’s not an accomplishment, not a goal. Not even all that notable. He just goes round it. He doesn’t even look back for the dog, who is still making his way from shrub to shrub. Once the man has made the corner, however, the dog abandons the fascinating scents and, at his own pace, makes it around the corner.
And, of course, just then, traffic has returned with a roar.
