The trousers lay steam-press flat on the tarmac, one leg hemmed above the knee. Folk skirted around them, curiosity creating sporadic queues. Conversations sparked, through wound-down windows, in roadside groups. Picnics appeared. A marquee.
After wind sky-danced the pants heavenward, people fell silent.
The void pulsated, like a phantom limb.
See more of Linda’s work at lindagriersonirish.wixsite.com/artandfiction/fiction.
I’d upvote this multiple times if I could. It evokes treasured memories and does so much on so many levels. Thank you.