Squad car leaping from its spot to stop the car that just rolled through that intersection. I may remember this as the time when I started to see a lot of Teslas. Repair man’s truck painted Christmas colors. UPS truck with its unique squeak of suspension and rattle in its approach — always with acceleration. Door open to what had been Ellen and her boy’s unit: new owners remodeling now. Reston. Guam. China. New Jersey. Mom sat in corner couch seat. House with lien on it. Fresh dog urine stream from trash can base. Two flies darting off — helical flight paths — an acorn-sized excremental bit.
The possibility emerges that the shirt I put in my bag, which I’d thought to be a nice collared work appropriate shirt, was actually a similarly colored collared exercise shirt full of holes and a smell I can’t expunge. Something not seen before: someone washing himself in 4 Mile beneath bridge. (Covid.) Idea that, ironically, you have settled on a philosophy of nothing ever happening during a time of accelerated historical change — (not ironic but because of your own stasis.) Water in curb — “somebody washing car.” Art should show people the Everyday imbued with magic, a story is magic, an argument is magic, but I keep dithering in the Thoreau territory of how to live, and what is real. Be spherical, I enjoin myself again.
Construction worker shimmying, shimmying, his arms high on the wheel barrow’s handles: he strives to eject the last gravel granules from the front corner’s divot. Cabbie’s complaints of yesterday recalled: you would think that people when they got in a cab would have a working idea of how much their trip was going to cost them, but maybe they don’t.
A playing card face down on the road: I stoop and flip it over to test my luck or see my future, and it is too weathered to tell. One of those people whose palms, when their arms are in a relaxed hanging position, face directly back, rather than slightly inward like mine do — delivery man. FLA plates, driver wearing fez. New row of trees where they’d been doing the gas line work.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 