A street runs steeply down the lower piedmont of Mt. Tabor, the road
gracefully marked with a dotted yellow line down the middle, the line
suggesting speed, speed, speed, as if too excited by the sharp incline
to police traffic. A few cars trickle past at a reasonable pace, and
then, for a time, the street is empty and the sun shines. Out of the
blue, a young man appears at the top of the hill and comes shooting down
on a longboard, knees bent, crouching low, shirt off, hair blowing back
in the rushing air.
No comments:
Post a Comment