Memories of fluff from the corridors of slush
In an eerie dream, visions of a mysterious harmless organic substance would seep assuredly into all the tiny crevices of the massive city and, quietly, peacefully, momentarily shut it down. After a full year’s worth of bustling, it would simply overpower every human attempt to do, every ambition, every bit of crazy.
It would not say stop. It would make stop.
Maybe violence was taking a toll. Maybe there was just too much happening. Maybe I had become weary. I had this dream and I wished it would come true. And then it did.
Now we sludge through the tarnished-freezy-sloshy streets adorned with ankle deep puddles of icy soiled waters, heading dutifully to our duties. We concentrate on not slipping and falling on the way. We look forward to our toes being dry and warm by the end of the day, when we’ve removed our street slush armor. We return to the regular.
But, though ages ago it feels, a few days ago, there was this moment of quieting, when clouds of sugar blanketed our lives. And we didn’t do, we were.
It’s nice to remember.