Vignette 1
Wednesday April 22, 2009
He started walking. Long stretches of desert road lay far behind and way ahead. An endless sea of rock and sand and parched scrub grass yawned on either side of him. The sun baked him, the car, the woman leaning against the car, and the desert all the same.
He was not wearing sensible shoes for a long hike.They were polished and black and padded his sole like a plank of wood might. His slacks were pristine, a crease leading from hip to toe, straight as an arrow. His shirt, soaked through already with sweat, was open at the collar, and he pulled his tie loose. His sweater he slung over his shoulder; he could already feel the moisture soaking through the wool.
She didn’t call out to him. They’d had their words, and there was nothing else to say. The car was fine. She’d be fine.
So he walked, and when the red sedan cruised past him, slowing only for a moment before speeding on ahead, he wasn’t the least surprised. In the distance, through the dust kicked up by the passing vehicle, he could see a small town. He’d stop in, maybe stay a day or two, buy a new car, and start again from scratch.I stole this picture from Tatielle. You should go see her pretty pictures.
