Driving down Maplewood Avenue, off to the right, just missing the windshield's blind spot, she thought she saw a swing sweep upward, a swing suspended from an unseen branch, its sight muffled by branches and leaves, the apogee a flickered flash in the afternoon's blaze. A rider not discerned: male or female, young or old. A white dress? Impossible to say. Too quick. The light turned green. The insistent beeping horn of the car in back.
Saturday, August 22, 2020
swinger
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