Stingray

I saw the crowd before I saw him. A group of men and women in trendy clothes crowded around a ‘69 Corvette Stingray. Flash bulbs illuminated. Groupies hung about, watching, using their phones. Then I saw his face, and recognized the man behind the wheel: someone I’d seen before, a name I didn’t remember. I wondered if the car had been borrowed for the photo shoot, or if he had recently purchased. It certainly had never been in the neighborhood before.

No. 057

Ren Faire

The dog sniffed at the base of a flowering jacaranda, violet petals falling softly from the branches and coating the grassy lawn. Across the street, people began streaming out of an apartment building. The women wore dresses or tunics with flower crowns. The men were dressed as knights and jesters. There were kings and queens, plastic, bejeweled crowns atop their heads. They carried flagons and steins, plastic swords and rapiers, bows and quivers. Passing cars honked. Neighbors stared, took photos, commented on the number of friends. The group posed in front of white flowering bushes along the fenceline, then piled into a black van, rented out for the occasion. In true fashion, a lone friar exited the building late and was the last to board the vessel.

No. 052