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I He wakes with the sun over the dashboard. He checks the mirror: still sleeping. He decides not to pee. He looks across the river. He’s never been. No papers, no money, no reason to go. Just be looking at this spot from over there. II The dogwalker watches the tug churn upriver. The low morning sunlight flashes back east. A nova? He looks: just a car window on the other side. He thinks about the last time he crossed — mostly for the duty free: The dog pants and pulls against the leash. Out of gin. — Time to go, Coco. |
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Sunrise by Guy Yasko
Filed under Guy Yasko
52|250 A Year of Flash 
Really captured the starkness of difference, and with so little. Well done. I especially liked “Just be looking at this spot from over there.”
Wonderful moment in time caught by this story. You’ve given us a glimpse of past and present and future all nice and concise.
lovely. i like this piece.
curiously, i made one this past week about two viewpoints, each looking at the other from across a distance. must be something in the air.
well played. not an extra word.
Ah. The slanted mirror. (And precise.) Lovely low morning light, lovely dog panting and pulling: lovely all.
I like this piece – it’s true, not an extra word, nothing to upset the balance of perspective
Thanks everybody. It’s all the more meaningful coming from you guys.
Cryptic and wonderful. The two views in either direction. You have a masterful touch with this craft.
i like the choppy, pursposeful cadence. feels like you pruned it to the bone, and rightly so. left me parched and sunburnt. nice job, guy.
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