"Some crows in a huddle on the edge of our loveseat waiting for some soul to carry away." -Zachary Schomburg, from The Man Suit

Chemicals

As I was walking across the bridge, a woman walking in the other direction, directly towards me, bumped into me. She had a look of alarm on her face, as I’m sure I had a similar look on mine. We both took a step back, then she took a step to the right, and I, to the left. We took a step forward, and bumped into each other again. Excuse me I said. Pardon me she said. She took a step to the left, and I to the right, this time. We bumped into each other again. Clumsy me I said. I’m a real scatterbrain she said. I’m such a klutz I said. I’m being so inept she said. I’m the biggest birdbrain I said. I’m all thumbs right now she said. A businessman walking past had stopped and been watching us, in hopelessly consistent and predictable flux, bumping into one another over and over, each exchanging some sort of pleasantry intended to put the blame solely on ourselves. You’re both fools, but polite fools he said. He corrected us, by pulling me to my right, and she to her right. Now, go he commanded. As we took a step forward, missing each other just barely, grazing our shoulders, we stopped and I looked to my left at her, and she to her right at me. This moment was done, and it would be gone forever. The businessman didn’t care much for this sort of thing, but he has ended something that could have potentially been endless. He thinks he’s relieved us, a hero in his mind: a fixer of helpless bumpers on the bridge. We break our gaze of one another, and I walk on to my home, and she, I can only assume, to hers.