Footfall Prose

I love hearing a good quip on the street. One person will turn to the other and emit a sentence that’s only meant for walking. Ambulatory style, that’s what it is. We speak differently when we’re seated together, or standing in front of the deli, or waiting for the bus. When moving, the punctuation is heightened, perhaps because of footfalls. And each time I hear something fabulous – like the young woman chiding her toddler as she barreled their stroller down 7th Avenue, Brooklyn – I die a little; or rather, I swoon.

Here’s the frustration with the above: I want to, but always fail to get those words home! I’d like to translate them to dialogue or a poem. Sadly, they’re not meant for indoor use. They come from rapid heartbeats, fresh air and expectation. And if I stopped and pulled out paper and pencil, the action would break rhythm and effectively snuff out the energy.

Home words and footfall dialogue must forever exist separately. My only hope is to work on my memorization skills. That’s a shoddy second, but then again, I’ve always been a thief.

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