Snow

Went out for a smoke and to watch the snow coming down last night. At the far side of Whitney Park, someone was firing off bottle rockets. Blue and red. Firecrackers, too. It made for a very wierd impression.

There is an empty chair between them where their daughter had been sitting. The woman has longish brown hair that curls in at the ends; a compact face with a pointed nose. The husband reaches across the chasm, flicks her shoulder with his fingers. She sweeps him briefly with her eyes, then tosses her hair. He places his arm across the back of the chair between them. The sleeves of his flannel shirt are rolled almost to the elbows. A large golden watch is banded to his thick wrist. The woman holds her left hand at eye-level. On her ring finger is a sizeable diamond in a gold setting. She gives out with a brilliantly devious smile before turning her hand in a kind of pirouette and setting it back on her lap. The daughter returns shortly. She is thirteen, with her daddy's blond hair, only much longer than his. The mother draws herself up in her chair. The daughter settles herself between them, then leans into the join between her daddy's broad chest and arm.

I have no idea where this is going, or if it's going anywhere at all. Later.

Bob;-)