Cars from the freeway backed up the surface street. Rush hour: honking, red lights in the autumn night, sun down before 5. Stoplight turned from green to red, and cars in the intersection blocked the flow of traffic. Drivers blared on the horns, others inched forward, bumpers nearly kissing. A barbershop on the corner: one working barber stood in the doorway, leaning against a broom. A pile of hair swept together on the wood behind him. He watched the traffic slowly start to move, then turned and brushed the hair onto the sidewalk.
No. 214