A Pregnant Pause

Cars sounds were muffled as tyres rolled across the slick surface of the road, and little streams of droplets ran away from the rims around tyres. A bus went past, windscreen wipers mechanically labouring left and right, casting off a small quantity of spray like a runner flicking sweat of her brow at the end of a jog. Traffic seemed to be all at once a muted, pneumatic thing, an organism of hisses and escaping air and the honking of horns seemed to be in an altogether different key from its fine weather register.

Pedestrians waited on a traffic island, looking for a break in the steamy flow of machines. Colours seemed washed yet dirty, glistening, but seen through a dark filter. Some people stood beneath umbrellas while others had decided to brave the elements and were thus more impatient for the cars to get moving and create space on the road to cross.

On the wide footpath the lunchtime crown hurried a little more than usual. People stepped around potted ornamental bushes which framed the perimeter of café seating, excusing themselves when they encroached too closely upon diners under little umbrellas.

Puddles formed in the cracks and undulations of the tiles and people endeavoured to avoid them too.

Staff from a row of cafes could be seen with bodies solicitously inclined toward patrons, talking under cover about the menu and specials, serving dishes, and hurrying a quick few steps through the rain to deliver orders in the shelter of the shop. It resembled a little dance.

Sitting at one table, just under an awning where water poured and splashed, was a woman with curly red hair. She wore a yellow trench coat over a pale blue dress and she had loosened the heel end of one of her shoes and was absently knocking it against one of the legs of her table. Her shoes bore a zebra print. She stared at her glass of house white and decided that he probably wasn’t coming. She would leave when she finished her drink.

Published in: on February 15, 2012 at 7:09 pm  Leave a Comment  

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