| WATCHING A RIVER FLOW |
| by Charles P. Ries |
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| (March 24th, 2004) |
| The Third Street river is flowing cool and slow. It’s high and tight on Friday night. Bum walks by imitating the hype and clean...but smelling like a bar floor. He’s listening...to something on the D Battery he’s pressed to the side of his head. It’s not a tune - he’s not humming. It’s not a prophetic vision - he’s not glowing. Bag lady dances near the dumpster looking like a helium balloon. She’s the gravitational center of a plastic bag she wears for warmth. A planet stuffed full of bathroom tissue and old newspapers. She’s humming...something too. In her mind she hears a hit parade. Damp and 50 degrees doesn’t prevent Ms. Candy Cane from showing off 80% of her six foot frame with only 8% body fat. Her boyfriend looks nervous holding this long, lanky love stick. Worried she might float away like tissue in a soft breeze. Bums and bunnies drift past me like minstrels in a marching band. The river is leading me downstream. |
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