Thursday, July 08, 2010

Fertile Ground

In a parking lot next to the highway caught between a merging lane and a retaining wall, topped with a fence, covered by a caged pedestrian overpass, he grips the throttle and clamps the body of the bike between his knees. He idles stubbornly and waits for the police to decide to move on.
The season and place are nothing particular around here, It feels like every other night and place here in the city, mean and bored, senseless and restless. Something has to be done, the people need to keep in motion, even in all directions at once. This soil though, is very fertile. While the subdivision sleeps the parking lot teems, around in back or clumped under the dead lights. The neighbours can't breathe, their hearts are wild, their faces pallid. Their hot houses send them out into the night air.
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