Sitting, staring out the window I spot a half-eaten red lollipop laying beside the train track in the gravel.
immediately I imagine how it came to be there -- did the mother, who let her child pick out one treat as they were grocery shopping, ignore his cries as she took his and and ran to board the departing train?
did he look back longingly at the piece of candy (of course he picked red, mama, cherry was his favorite, you know) he'd dropped as they ran to the closing doors? did the mother console the poor child, promising her baby they'd buy him another, or did she (irritated or weary from carrying the shopping bags, as well as those under her tired eyes) let him cry? or did, perhaps, the child understand what had happened and trusted his mother's judgement? did he blame himself as he looked up at her quietly while she gazed out the window with an empty look on her face?
perhaps it wasn't a child, just someone who, quickly tiring of the cherry flavor (he thought it was raspberry, it looked like it might be raspberry) tossed the lollipop on the ground for the ants?
caught up in all these possibilities of human perception I find myself constantly trying on other people's shoes, so to speak. it's instinctive and it's easy and it's always interesting.
man, I'm totally weird.
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