Under the tall tree

The meeting point is clear. I have passed that tree so often it seems I’ve forgotten to notice how big it is, and here it is, a rock at the extreme side of the island, a flow of cars on each side. I stand facing it, people passing by on each side, walking slowly, faster, slower, toward the tree and the two pedestrians crossing, short bridges between pavements. I am another rock, another tree, flow of people on each side, timing lengthening to the exact moment… Damn… people should know when to be late.


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