FICTION

A STRANGER'S GLANCE

by Cynthia, N.J.

a stranger's glance

is all ....

a still ‘hullo'

to manifest

my sweetest self ..........

Dark... six-thirty... it looked quite chilly as I peeked through the shades at the front window. . . checking — didn't want to bump into a neighbor! All clear . . . drew the collar of my warm Borgana snugly about my neck, slung the long strap of my bag over my shoulder and opened the door. December wind stung my knees so slightly covered, and tiny flecks of snow dusted my face with little cold spots.

...

I was glad the snow wasn't too heavy. The pavement was clear and dry hate driving on that pretty white stuff, or ice. gives me a queasy feeling . . imminent end. The door whispered goodbye with an im- perceptible Yale click as I stepped to the sidewalk . . . heart pulsating happily . . . so, so fearfully happy because there, despite my caution, was the neighbor-man carrying out his garbage pail - and we were on a collision course! To turn around would be idiotic and I don't think he saw that I had emerged from the house next door to his . . . holding high the galvanized cup as he did until he reached the grass edge where muscles flexing beneath his scarlet hunting jacket slowly lowered the heavy can to the ground. We were due to meet ..

Holding my gait... cheating . . . shortening each step by a fraction or two... timing. . . I believe . . . know . . . I cheated a little to improve (insure) the chance of confrontation.

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