"Ir"
Elliot Bailey
Almost there, he felt a satisfied tingling in his spine and fingers as if today had been the day and he was already finished. Entering the dark of a polluted tunnel that ran under the main road, he jumped up and down, his knees coming to his chest three times in the air, like he used to do before his wrestling matches in the countryside. He adjusted the old gun in his waistband and walked forward into the light. The parade was just getting started and a young girl that reminded him of his daughter was trailing a group of three older sisters, all wearing flower print dresses made from the same bolt of cloth, weaving a daisy chain through the crowd. He walked down a warm block to a vendor selling sweets.
“Just that, please,” he said pointing to a pastry.
“I guess,” said the vendor, as dubious about it as he. Frowning at its mauve sheen, he ate it carefully. His stomach growled at the protraction of his slow picking.
“Hush, you’ll thank me later,” he said patting his belly concernedly. His hand fell to the gun. He felt its corrugated grip rub against his stomach as he walked away.
He settled on a granite bench under the green awning of a little bank. He sat there as if for something, but really he did not. The people listed by, nudging his knees as they passed and crowded and pushed for a better view of the street. Twenty minutes exhaled by the bustle and he waited there on the bench some more.
The citizens, warm and breathing and beautiful in the rare sun passed him at the slow gate of a sunny day. The summer had finally come down into the streets of the city to feel the peoples’ faces and to see if it believed their expressions. He felt warmth lay down on his black clothes and satisfaction-- a stranger-- crept into him.
Yes, it’s come out for us today, hasn’t it? What a right day.
Floats began to pass by. There’s a bakery, and a boarding school wrestling team.
“There we go, boys” he said to himself. His head drifted back and settled on the chalky sill of the bank’s baroque windows. A smile dawned curiously in his cheeks, haltingly retracing old steps.
The young girl he’d seen earlier had been lost by the daisy triumvirate and stood just a ways from him, plucking at a bit of bread as she looked up to the people around her. He watched her admiringly. She caught her reflection in his black full moon glasses and walked over to his bench, taking his side to look across the broad jaw of a stranger.