The window, sashed, allows the river-cool breeze and a pale stream of sunlight. Blonde On Blonde plays. A young man passes below. He has a rucksack low on his back, a peaked cap, reversed, a filling beard. There is a skateboard between his arm & cottoned ribs. I’ve seen him of late from this first floor window, but have yet to witness any skating. This carrying around, this non-riding, is something of a millennial phenomenon. Occasionally though, perhaps at the kerb, or for no apparent reason, they throw down their board with a casual and carefree clatter and trap it beneath a sneakered foot, only to (and this is the trick of it!) flip it back up, with a smart stamp of rubber sole on the closer end and, with a slack snatch at the nose as it rises, the skateboard is returned neatly beneath the arm, and blithe perambulation continues.
Digging the [close to the aperture] series.
And who does not dig a Rib Nite.
Thanks for sharing.
Glad you make.
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writtencasey. glad you drop by. nickreeves.
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