Today, [tweetthis]I post a photo and a bit of flash fiction. I keep the words brief because, you know, “a picture is worth a 1,000….” [/tweetthis] To find out more click here.
I live over there. Across from where you all catch the train, in your suits and ties and fancy back packs with padded shoulder straps in every color of the rainbow. Except the rainbow is brighter. Your colors are a rainbow through dark grey clouds.
I up there now, watching through the slits in the almost-closed Venetian blinds. There. Above Cafe Rustica. Look up.
Or look down. I left a message for you. Right there under you feet.
Every night, or should I say morning, cuz it’s sometime after 1:00 AM, John comes to take me for what he calls, “airing out.” I’ve been grabbing a handful of corn and dropping it through the hole in my pocket. Spelling out a message, or drawing an arrow, or just making a design, hoping someone will notice.
I’ve been doing it since Christmas. I know it was Christmas cuz of the lights and the tinsel wrapped around the light poles.
Does anyone ever notice there’s corn on the platform every morning? Does anyone wonder why? It begs the imagination.
As I peek between the metal slats of the blinds, I hold my breath, I blink them up down; up down up, up down. Is that Morse code for SOS? No one looks. No one seems to see anything. Perhaps everyone down there on the platform has is own John in his life. Perhaps they are happy to be airing out.