Rumbling

…in the distance.

After hours of sticky heat and a morning of hill covering mist.

I heard thunder. I listened for rain. The air grew cool. The night became silent.

The heat returned.

A Bird Situation

You can almost hear the rush of air before the splatter hits your ears. You can see metallic paint with white streaks, walls with white and green splotches.

Once in a while, you can even see a group of friends furiously wipe down the uniform of one of their own.

On the side of the road. With white splotches on the tarmac beneath them.

Looking through Windows

A short film came to mind recently. Two couples: one thought they were watching who they used to be, the other was watching who they wanted to be.

The driver in the sun hat and shades hopping out of a three door. The relaxed driver turning a knob while at the wheel of the grey Range Rover.

The couple pressing on the doors. She with a distracted stare. He with a wry smile. The passenger smiling at their smart phone in the upholstered seat.

The man pushing the SLK into a petrol station.

The passengers in the passing car. The one who chortled, the one who stared and the one who acted like the road ahead would split open.

A Pencil Case

The object had been reported missing almost ninety days ago.

Attempts to establish its last known location had yielded contradictory clues.

All known whereabouts had been carefully searched.

It had disappeared.

After extensive reorganization in service of another cause, a resident saw it next to a paper punch at dusk on a desk frequently used by the occupants.

The case was open.

This case is now closed.

At the Door

There we stood.

It felt strange. It was a hot day and the black jacket was reflecting a different kind of heat.

Less than six feet apart, making conversation. Only one breathing through cloth on strings.

In front of us, two others served. Very well.

All four were knocking.

I hope my knocking wasn’t heard.

A Familiar Route

The bumping jolted me. I had seen them a moment too late. I couldn’t brake too hard. I couldn’t speed up fast enough.

I didn’t have enough room to swerve and to stop would have felt worse.

A route I had driven many times.

Do we drive by memory?

It must have been the bumps I forgot.

Visions

It took an hour to get there.

The ride was jarring; bumps, scrapes, squeaks, scratches. Then the rocking to a stop.

In the hills of greenery, enclosures of concrete. Once it is developed, no one will believe it was once this.

Not once they see concrete and tarmac, motors and cycles.

For now, it will be green. Sound will carry, from far away, passing cars, yelling children and the odd vehicle.

A Crisp Note

Visibly embarrassed. He tugged at the O-neck short sleeve like he wanted to switch off the gray. He was a student at an institution that rhymes with stubs. He had not received his ID-yet. He had slept somewhere. Obviously. And needed some money to get home. A top up. He had a thousand shillings and needed three to get to Kazo.

I have been in situations where, to a stranger, the truth could come across as a lie.

I gave him a crisp note.