POTHOLES AND PUDDLES

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Because he was reading he didn’t notice what happened. So nothing happened. Yet the Earth kept spinning, the world was moving and gravity pulled. A black-haired young woman in a shiny red dress was strolling on the sidewalk, a bouquet of yellow flowers under her left arm and a single white rose in her right hand. The potholes, full of water because of recent rain, had reflections of her billowy dress. The bus stalled for a minute at the lights. In her eyes the bi-dimensional look of someone who’s already been somewhere and given the flowers, and now going someplace else to put them in a vase and show them. (She’ll draw the table to the window and leave this open, for the yellow flowers, while the rose will go into a separate glass.) If it rains and then it’s warm and the sun comes out, all colors attain a magnificence even the dirty windows of busses cannot make dull.