Street Dance

Oh, she wishes it had happened today. She doesn't even remember what he looked like: the average office suit she recalls, but her imagination has added a messy haircut and an unshaven face – some small protest to set him apart from his co-workers. It started with that awkward back-and-forth shuffle of two strangers trying to pass each other on the street; then he grabbed her right hand and put his arm around her waist, swirling her in a mini waltz in the middle of the lunchtime shoppers and angry passersby. He set her down on the pavement and smiled, walking away, stretching his hand behind him as he went. She would understand that moment if it happened now – two people sharing a delicate second in a day that hadn't gone to plan for either of them. But no, when it happened she was sixteen, so she just frowned, trudged away and hoped no one had noticed.

reposted from Six Sentences http://sixsentences.blogspot.com

my favourite bit of dublin street art

The Predictor

He's there everyday, this gap-toothed, grizzled old man standing outside the corner store. Sipping from a can of cider at all times, he wears a stained, mangy trench coat, whatever the weather. Sometimes he's arguing with bearded, long-haired, old drinking buddies; but mostly he's alone. I see him on my walk to work every morning and my heart takes a pause as I approach. Everyone who passes is greeted with either an enthusiastic thumbs up, or a high-pitched, possessed: "Fuck off, ye bastard!" He's become a very reliable predictor of how my day will turn out.

This was originally published on the lovely Six Sentences site.
Go visit : http://sixsentences.blogspot.com/

Things that made me wistful today:

An asthmatic child, an old man buying cup-a-soup and an arthritic dog that fell over with excitement.