Light

So many postcards. So much to say. “Dear Elaine,” she writes to herself. “Almost Christmas. Can you tell? It’s the reindeer. They’re everywhere. Their antlers rising from car windows. Tiny Christmas trees. Those too. On these windows. These cars. Antlers and Christmas trees sprouting from the same window sometimes. Insane, I know. And wreaths. Can’t forget those. Attached to hoods and trunks. And Christmas decals. Plastered on every door. It’s too much. You know? Too, too much. So I’m thinking. When did a car become a Christmas decoration? I mean. Really. Is that crazy? Or what? But nothing beats what I saw today. Nothing. There. In front of the old bowling alley. You know the one. On Tucker Road. He was there. This man. Waiting for the bus. Wearing a suit and tie. Bright orange. That suit. And leopard print. I kid you not. Orange leopard print. From head to toe. Can you imagine? But that’s not all. The lapels. On that suit. Orange fur. I’m serious. Fluffy, fluffy fur. All around his neck. So I’m thinking. Is this what a pimp looks like? Don’t know. Never seen one before. But I’ll tell you this. This man. This suit. The only bright spot. He was. On the street. Today. In dreary weather. Cloudy. Freezing cold. And yet, and yet. This beacon of light. Him. This man. This suit. I mean. Isn’t that what we’re called to be? A light. In a dark world. Or something like that. I mean. You do what you can with what you’ve got. Right? And he did. So I’m thinking. Mission accomplished. So there.”

~

www.laurastampsfiction.blogspot.com   

Facebook: Laura Stamps   

Twitter: @LauraStamps16