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I couldn’t hear above the shouting. I looked outside to see two men and a woman screaming and gesticulating at one another. A love triangle? A deal gone bad? *****, to boot?
My vantage point was high enough so that they looked less like humans and more like feral little critters in a stand-off. I wonder what the view would be from the clouds above.
I kept on moving up and watched how the critters gradually turned into ants, then mere specks of dust. Sentient no longer, just annoying little ink spots that moved nilly-*****.
Their petty struggles, their grasping for what is beyond their reach, their quick devolution into ancient ways, shedding the veneer so carefully crafted all these eons ago now.
On my return trip, I gradually saw the human forms again, no longer in a ******* match. An exchange of apologies and a shaking of hands. A détente for the ages among this trio.
The odds are against us, the wind blowing in the wrong direction, no good deed goes unpunished. But for one second, under the microscope, there is soft grace on a street at night.
Lori Jones McCaffery
Carlo C Gomez
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