22 July 2010. Exigencies of the road, on a gray morning. In this instance, a PGE truck parked on the diagonal at intersection of Peralta and Solano--heavy metal disk pulled up onto the street, yellow ribbed ventilation tube, men in rumpled orange work clothes, rubber boots, leaning over, investigating.
Investigating, that's it--but with a less precise goal. (Can urban plumbing ever be precise?) A wandering, amidst the balance points--as with the various implements attached to the back of the truck--a yellow cannister, line of rope, state license plate mounted high, and one dull red stop reflector on off position. Traffic cones.
Voice of Tolstoy, over tiny 21st century ear-buds, another gathering at the salon of Anna Pavlovna. Ippolit returned from Vienna, his irrverant humor intact. "The King of Prussia...," pronounced in gravelly French. She takes umbrage, a royalist to the core...
Pierre Bezukhov, gone now, far to the south, to be with the land...
No comments:
Post a Comment