Fluted Task

Clive and his wife Zoe were standing
in front of Sushi Ichiban. It was not 11 yet.
Clive was futzing with his camera and
thinking the traffic felt compressive.
“The traffic feels dense,” he said.
“We’re downtown dear,” she said
He said that the food came around on a little train the idea of which to Clive, sounded promising.

Clive was collecting shots of fire hydrants, and had been since the couple left Denver 10 days ago last week. For Clive it was about the exposure, an acquired patina, over time. And you know, they are always just standing around anyways.

“The hydrant on the corner is purple, Clive said.
“Can we eat first,” Zoe said.
“I’ll just cross over real quick,” Clive said.
“I’ll not wait a quarter past,” Zoe said.

The hydrant stood at the southwest corner of the intersection.
It was sandwiched between crosswalk and stoplight poles.
The hydrant was painted a crisp purple. There were brushstrokes.

The cross-town stops next to the hydrant every 45 minutes.
Around noon the driver gets a bag of popcorn and takes a leak.
The hydrant is silver, and which someone has placed a knitted cap atop. It is a seasonal thing now.

He cannot see the hydrant from his spot on the bench while the driver is peeing. He considers the accumulation, the layers, the emulsification. Urban sequestration. He considers the fizzy green threads, and deli-sliced or individually wrapped.

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