Vliet St.

We wait for him on the corner of Vliet St. She sits on a stump while I kick an old plastic bottle.

“He’s late,” I say.

She rolls her eyes.

The plastic crunches with another kick. I start to take out a cigarette.

She squints at me. I know she doesn’t approve. I put the cigarette behind my ear, decide to twirl my pocket knife instead.

“Maybe we should go.” I point at the old brown boat.

She shakes her head. “He’s just running late.”

I snort. Obviously.

She turns away. “Be patient. The kids need those backpacks for school.”


Picture is copyright by Rachel Kenison.

(Thoughts of community service on September 11th: one can help children in need by donating a backpack and/or school supplies.)

 

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