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Jennifer Grotz

A Day So Empty

A day so empty. And now a night, and through the window I watch a plastic cup blow back and forth in the street, its tempo and direction determined by the passing cars. Pickup truck, roaring Jeep, bullet of a blue Toyota. Headlights part the night like a curtain that instantly draws itself closed again. Under the streetlamp, a lone mosquito floats like an eyelash in the humid expanse of air. Then rain begins, visible as it softly pelts the oak leaves overexposed to a greenish yellow by the streetlamp. I scan the street for clues of what one might feel. The rain mixed with motor oil polishes the macadam. And a pedestrian looks down at his illuminated cell phone, trying to decide whether to answer.
 


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