Popsicle
*details of art throughout by Rae Buleri
I stood and watched a man in a blue suit stare into the window of a shop that only sold popsicles. He stared for a long time. He kept staring. I said, “Do it, man. Get yourself a popsicle.” But he couldn’t hear me. I was on the other side of the street leaning against the brick wall and the wind ripped and sent a newspaper slapping into me. I laughed and kicked it away.
The man in the blue suit changed his stance and peered closer. His breath fogging the window. It was such a cold day. I was shivering. Part of my problem with shivering was that I didn’t own a coat anymore. I’d gotten too fat for my coat three years before, maybe four years before and I refused to buy another coat. That coat was supposed to last the rest of my life. That had been the deal.
Maybe I’d change my life or something.
The man in the suit walked away and I followed him with my eyes until he really was away. Everyone else streamed past the popsicle store without giving it a second thought. These were the most expensive popsicles in America. Right next door was a former guitar shop that was no longer a guitar shop. The sign remained but the inside was white like heaven now and I could see construction workers working the whiteness. Soon the store would become a Chanel or a Hugo Boss. You couldn’t sell enough guitars here to stay in business. I squinted and looked through the popsicle store’s window at the lone employee. He wouldn’t have that job much longer.
A few minutes later that same businessman, now wearing a plaid scarf, walked back up the street, and entered the popsicle store and he bought himself a popsicle and saved the day. It was such a cold day. Leaving, he looked absolutely insane with that green popsicle in his hand.
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