Royal Street and about to rain

The most exquisite piece of literature I've laid my hot little hands on, and I finished it today. The world is a bigger place.

Again I am walking down the street smiling, but not like the millionaire I might have been. This was the kind warmth of finding a crumpled dollar on the sidewalk, and unfurling it to find a love poem scrawled from one stranger to another.

I pass by the plastic rooster window display, the one I see daily, flanked by window after window of sundry golden glass things and velvet sitting stools.

A woman is standing in the street, sporting a dirty face and a silent accordion. She is looking forlornly down the block at Mr. PurpleHaze with his electric guitar and one-note blues riff. Her thunder is being stolen, dollar by dollar.

I would give her my dollar were it not for the love poem.

The wind picks up as I trip over a jagged bit of sidewalk. I don the sweater without breaking stride, and notice it smells of Laura and cloves.