He waited in the field for the Yellow Cab, conversing with men in overalls. He carried a pail of avocados, almost black, and gave one to each. The absence of streets and traffic lights was insignificant. Looking up just in time, he saw a kit of wild city pigeons, the sun brightening their feathers—morphs of rainbow. Rusty-red, white and pied-blue. He watched them stream through the rays and listened for the sound of tires.
first published in Camroc Press Review 2012