• Post category:Misc. / Places
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  • Reading time:1 mins read

On the false spring day, I walk home after brunch, shedding my scarf, opening my jacket. On car windshields I notice pages placed under windshield wipers. Pages torn from a book. I try to read as I pass. About the Author. A Japanese surname.

Across the street a man is walking with a woman, saying, “That and that and that and that.” I watch them for a while, and their strange conversation makes me forget the pages. Then I notice a red hardcover book, sitting on a low garden wall. It’s soaked through from the rain, and along the edge, someone has written SARaH in large, shaky letters.

I reach out to pick it up, but change my mind. And days later I’m still wondering about it.

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