A girl, about four, runs out of her house wearing nothing but a diaper, surveys the street, sees me riding my bike, turns around, dashes back inside and slams the door.
A young man in a pink T-shirt is doing construction work on the corner of Normal and Franklin.
On my first day of work I steal a furtive glance at my boss, dash outside, get a Diet Mountain Dew out of the vending machine, tip-toe inside and throw the cool lime potion behind the filing cabinet for later.
A man easily old enough to be my grandfather wears two cardigans and firmly clutches his Doritos as he waddles down the street fast as those arthritic legs will carry him.
A guy walks out of Baldwin with a sneaky grin, a messy haircut, and eyes that pierce like ice darts.
The weather turns from hot to chilly to snowy and back again, and nobody says a word but "Huh?"
A man in his seventies and a man in his eighties are drinking Dr. Pepper and Diet Mountain Dew, respectively, shooting the breeze, going from the price of a restored Ford Model-T to the price of life and death and the merits of a Do Not Resuscitate.
There is an unredeemed scratcher in my purse right now.
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