She staggered and wove, her steps crossing each other as she traversed the steep sidewalk, aiming uphill toward Main Street in her irregular style. Heading downhill on my way home after teaching yoga, I tried not to stare at the poor drunk on the opposite side of Foch Street. And then, from seeming unable to walk a straight line, she transformed into a dancer. She spun, both arms extended, her balance perfect despite holding a large cloth bag. Then she staggered on, and then spun again.
Okay, I thought. This is Truth or Consequences. What the heck. You can express yourself.
I continued across Healing Waters Plaza and reached Broadway. While I paused for traffic, a man passing down Daniels along the side of the drug store stopped and posed, casting his shadow on the white wall of the building. He wore a backpack, and his pose resembled the position of the Turtle formation atop Turtleback Mountain,. He stood on one leg, his torso horizontal, his other leg flexed and lifted in an attitude derriere, his arms in front cupping the unseen mountain. Or so it looked to me, having struck that pose a few times to help people see the Turtle. He jogged a few steps and posed again, casting his shadow, repeating the move until he was past the streetlight and out of sight.
What was going on? People alone dancing in the streets. And not the sort of dances you’d do if the music in your head or through your earbuds inspired you to move with the beat. Was it an art event? A random coincidence? A pact or dare between friends? No one was watching or filming. I seemed to be the only audience. I can invent a story, for sure. Reading this, you may be inventing your own. Perhaps that’s what they wanted.
I’ve been reading old drafts I never posted, looking for lost gems, and found this:
Amber Foxx Mysteries 