Die Writing

On the streets 7

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 2, 2015

Aside

Autumn has been quite beautiful in DC, as it has been, unfailingly, every year.

Mist

In the late evening of a gray and rainy day, a luxurious emerald green convertible is pulled up at the light. It’s slick, its chrome is spotless, and its leather interior a privileged tan. The driver – a woman in her fifties, with a powerful bearing, with a royal mane of voluminous blond hair, and clad in a leopard-print fur coat – is standing next to the car, with the door ajar.

From the car, growling, unrepentant horns are blaring.

And they say that jazz is dead.

***

It’s late, the people on the metro are sparse, but she chooses to stand by the door. She stands with the perfect casual ease of a ballet dancer or an English dressage rider. Her back is straight, shoulders square, chin up – yet there appears absolutely no strain in her figure. Her appearance is so effortless in its formality, it makes the observer feel like a wicked slouch.

Short, copper-red hair is sculpted and precise, framing a pale and determined face.

Nothing less than a time-traveling Wildesian dandy.

***

The older gentleman rushed through the morning foot traffic. He was dressed in a tweed three-piece suit, complete with an impeccable matching bow-tie. A bowler topped his head. His age appeared no impediment, neither to his brisk, nor smart focus of his eyes, nor impish smile.

A pair of white headphones snaked up from inside his jacket.

Perhaps this dandy time-traveled the usual way.