Lamp post says “the walk signal is on” my head snaps up, I’m crossing. Glancing down my mind wanders; remembering when the crossing signal was birds, chirping. On the other side now, approaching Denver and the two story Paul Bunyan, the Max Station. There she was; haircut with too many angles, nape of neck suggesting the geometry of a larger object. Perched precarious with dangling limbs in an impossible position; an awkward grace, a calculated nonchallance. I want to believe she just landed that way; crooked provocative balanced on the circular metal bike-rack. Legs crossing she notices me as I approach, an exclamation point in body language.
“The yellow line to city center is expected to arrive in six minutes,” a disembodied female robot voice announced. I square up with the ticket machine and I feel her watching. As I fumble out my card I sense her movement, the chains on her jeans jangling. The next few moments pass in a flash; a single breath, inhale…exhale.
“Hey,” she says in a small voice, I turn. Her right hand comes up, palm down, as if to slap me five. Too late I notice my wallet open in front of me like a book, her black-nailed hand coming down. I barely have time to register the quiet “smeck” sound of it being stolen before she’s gone. Across the tracks in three gawky, too-long strides. Over the fence on the far side and out of sight before I can open my mouth to shout. Behind me, the ticket machine spits out my card, tauntingly flashing and beeping. Grabbing my plastic and paper I turn and smile into the sounds of the approaching train. I had just witnessed a desperate act, however useless. She’ll be disappointed with my cheap camo-colored bill-fold; nothing but sweaty business cards and yellowing old receipts.
*this is a work of fiction; as in I made it up, it didn’t happen.
As fake as that was, it painted a vivid picture. I hope you can do that for my 150 word bio. Hahaha!
@the perezident- I like makin’ shit up! Is that what you want me to do for you?