WHICH ONE IS THE DREAM

Those damn mail carts again. It was a very Pittsburgh setting: A steep hill, I was crossing in the middle at a crosswalk about which I am always dubious. Trust repressed rage-aholics behind the wheel of a car talking on a cell phone without a stop light? No thanks. But there was no one in sight. I ventured. When out the blue, two empty mail carts came careening down the hill, heading right for me. We all crashed together on the sidewalk and tumbled into the grass.

Bea at the luncheonette handed me a boysenberry ice in a pleated paper cup, moments later.

This morning it was honking black birds crossing the sky in the bright dark blue and the remnants of a full moon shining like an usher's flashlight they weren't heeding. I got up before getting up just to push the curtain aside and see. The moon, I noticed, was many feet higher above Squirrel Hill than it had been at the same time the previous morning.