[r]Ambling Along a Line of Pretty Phrases

NOTE: there are several grammatical mishaps, i.e. run-ons and tense / narrator changes, these are known and have purpose.


Cold. Not biting, nor comfortably crisp. The hands of nearby strangers sought their worn pockets, children's lips cracked as they grinned and played the smoker with their breath. The boy lit cigarette after cigarette, the flame dancing elusively under bent and uncared for inspirations. The girl walked at his side, concerned about his habit but tranquil in the moment- walking two paces quicker to match his lengthy strides. Seldom was his arm not around her, around a waist so small he tried to almost hover his grasp, like a small child carrying a vase under the supervision of watching parent. The brick walk lay broken and strong beneath their feet, rubble crunching and clinging to their canvas rags as they moved along parallel to the hallway of light, ending shortly ahead of them and beginning shortly behind. The town was too small for their needs, each block the same distance as in the city, but ending much too quickly, the sidewalk petering out before their interest, the shops closing before their lungs could deflate and rise. The night life contained youngsters on skateboards, cursing with words beyond their belief. "F*ck!" confessed a failed trick, a decrypt attempt to impress his lady. We laughed, though the boy secretly felt empathy towards the crumbled pride of the aspiring lover, that moment of attempt aligned the two, aligned all males with their taut smiles and fading hopes as their Prospect turns to glance at her refection in a glass, adjusting an un-appropriated hair; oblivious to all of mankind's futile gestures. One step, two, three, harsh intakes as feet began to loose traction on ice- sidewalk-salvation. A ripple of electricity flows through my body, I jump, mind reels, reels with the realization of where I am, and who I am there with. Hands shaking, out comes the tin, jackets scrape like a headmaster's cough with our limb's disconnection, the flame dances elusively. The girl, she squints up at him, playing in her mind- drawing a triangle from the tip oh is nose to the end of his cigarette to his mouth to the tip of his nose. She half smiles, hoping he doesn't notice so she won't have to explain her out-of-sorts thought. He doesn't. Inhale, exhale, blink, breathe, streams of smoke, reels of film pour through my mind- turning grainy and melting before her quizzical lift of chin and that glint in the corner of her glasses. "Where to?" her heart flooded at the adorable crack from apparent nervousness- she slung her arm through his in a move of companionship and matronly instinct. Peering at him through her glasses, she laughed at his self-conscious fluttering of hands.
"You tell me, soldier" came the reply, and the boy dropped his head and shook his unkempt hair slightly to the right; an obviously habitual motion hampered by knit green cap. Of a sudden his teeth clenched and pace picked up, her feet scrambled to match him, as they moved off brick and cement to scattered stone, wooden plats, and iron lengths. There it was, never had a path been so direct and straightforward, a skeletal frame reaching even to the horizon. The couple's shadows were cast by the neon lights and street lamps behind them- exaggerating their silhouettes on rusty rails and the surrounding tawny grass.


[end?]