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A Provocative Hand

Street sweeping happens on Thursdays and Fridays from 10am to 12pm. I woke up at 9:58 this morning to move my squeaky car. Her name is Tonya. Tonya the Toyota. I put on a baggy sweatshirt with a hood so that people could not see my braless breasts or my morning hair. Tonya was playing a morning talk show, they were talking about edibles and durian. I moved her to a spot near the school around the corner. Kids screamed and laughed. I turned the talk show down realizing my windows were down and edibles were inappropriate for children. I walked back home, my eyes still half asleep. Somehow the music playing in my earphones felt more significant. Morning emotion is normal for me. It’s amazing how high you can feel from just a pretty voice and some rhythm. I got back to my eggplant colored room and stripped back down to my underwear and went back to sleep for an hour.

Later that day I went for my run. I put my earphones back in but the music didn’t have the same effect as it did first thing in the morning. I sprinted the last stretch. I think my posture is the best it ever is when I sprint. I feel it stretch to it’s full length as I watch my legs carry me. My head is up and my shoulders are back. It is another kind of high.

I walked back to my house. I passed the funky restaurant on the corner where people have brunch on the sun lit patio. I passed the coffee shop I go to, where they know me and my order.

Right before the video rental place there was a white small car. In my head I have made it a BMW. It wasn’t a new one. It was older, less showy, more trendy. I don’t think it was actually a BMW, but that is what my mind has turned it into. There was something about the hand in the open window that caught my eye. I watched it. There was a cigarette burning low between the slender fingers. The fingernails were white matching the car. She flicked the ash. Her hand was smooth, feminine. As I watched this hand with a cigarette and white nail polish, I thought about the life of the woman it belonged to. She must be beautiful, with a life that feels more like a rollercoaster at times. I wondered if she knew how provocative her hand with the cigarette in the open window was. I have a feeling she has no idea. She is just being, like the rest of us.

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