He blew out his candle, organized the steno sheets, and stacked them on the table. He rubbed his hands together and peered out from the darkened restaurant booth, captivated by the traffic light above 6th and Denver. Like the meticulous host of an imaginary tea party, it had served invisible travelers through the long night - the herbal yellow, then ginger red, then sweetened green. The cycling was patient, predictable, pausing long enough for a few sips, then serving again. Yellow, red, and then green.
Posts
