Absently he looked at his feet. Scuffmarks were on his shoes. Did he know they were already there? He doesn’t remember taking note of them before.
(A blade of grass wavers in the strong breeze. A beam of sunlight sidles up to it.)
Like a passing wave: a memory. She is running towards her mother. She buries her head in the billowing cotton skirt. Tears flow… She wonders if the memory is real. Maybe it was something she saw on TV, or in a movie. Maybe she invented it.
(The Roomba is patient. At precisely 10:05 AM it comes to life, as it does every weekday. It goes to work sucking the life out of the carpet. At 10:35 AM it goes back to its charger, and waits. Patience)
She turns her head to shy away from the bright sunlight and is confronted by a hot pink silhouette of a dancing figure. The poster is plastered to the stone wall, and takes on the wall’s contours.
(It is a Sunday afternoon on Rathdowne St. The street is deserted. The leaves are starting to turn.)
The child stands motionless in the hallway. Impatiently waiting for summer to end…. He keeps saying to himself “any moment now…any moment.”
(The paint on the little red compact begins to bubble, crack and flake. Birds defecate on its bonnet)
