Edges
Standing on the shoulder of a desolate Interstate highway, a couple argues at the front of a stalled car―steam rolling out from under its hood.
On the sidewalk, in the late afternoon shadows in front of a barber shop, a soiled magazine flutters with the artificial breeze of stop-and-go traffic.
In the back seat of a car idling behind the McDonalds, in the on and off illumination of the flashing yellow at an adjacent intersection, a woman nurses a baby. A younger man in the driver’s seat eats a hamburger.
Behind the garage of the vacant house next to a dollar store, two children take turns huffing from a paper bag containing a cigarette pack―its cellophane wrapper unbroken.
Early Sunday morning at the local co-op grocery, a young woman waiting for her turn at the checkout flips mindlessly through a magazine on Zen meditation.
While an old man sleeps in his chair in the living room, a digital watch―somewhere in the house — intermittently beeps.
Amateur astronomers and trend followers gather to watch the rarest of rare lunar eclipses — impressed by their fortune to experience this event in their lifetimes―a homeless man struggles past―unseen―under the weight of his worldly belongings.
