Every time you hesitate, I can hear something crack. Or break, or shatter. It’s a matter of perception, I am sure, but it is disconcerting. Let’s walk down this street. No one else is here. Evaluate the chance of being accosted. That’s silly, isn’t it, there’s no one here, and I don’t see anyone coming down the street. But what about patrols? Or sudden emergence from the subway? Or an unlikely procession of phantom motorcyclists? Aren’t you being overly dramatic? There’s no one here, and no one coming down the street. Let’s continue, we can discuss the news without altering our pace. Its pace is frantic, don’t you think? Why no, it’s always like this, imperturbable shaking at the edges. A red light comes on, something buzzes. Unplug it. It is. But your phone. Off. Like mine. But you don’t have one, that’s why we’re here together now, walking down the street expecting someone else to emerge. And all we hear is cracking, crackling, breaking, shattering. It’s inevitable, frustrating. That’s the news.
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Andrea Moorhead
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