The wind-up, with leg-warmers, or just a slip of the brush...the brush, yes, as if with fate, on a moment's notice, hands in close, gripping the handle... a forest of ash trees, in Western Pennsylvania... Utica, too--we'd know him anywhere, or maybe not at all...
Back seat of a Brooklyn bus, sweltering, cross town to King's Plaza--a pair of glasses for the bride, we sit together in the heat, thinking, what--the past, the future, everything to come...
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