Don't You Read the Post?
Sarah Malone

I thought you would enjoy reading how afternoon was best as it was ending and everyone outside was bundling past. I took a window table where I'd be able to see you coming, and after sitting, I thought: the light. Five p.m. All the buildings were blue like snow.

There was a Post, open to basketball scores. Looking down was something to do, and once I was reading, for all that anyone knew it was my Post and I was a regular. People like you, is that how you feel wherever you go?

Darby says to act like I mean it and I'll find that's what I mean. She bet me dinner you wouldn't show. I said how everything's different; now, if you had to, you could text.

Yes, he could, she said.

Your phone could have run down. You could still have my old number.

You believe that? Darby said. See you at six. Your treat.

My treat. She was already on her way. She'd texted. I found the bin to recycle my cup and napkin, but it wasn't my Post, and I wondered: news or opinion? Which would you glance at before brushing it aside, and which would I rather leave you with?

Sarah Malone's fiction has recently appeared here and in Open City, The Awl and Matchbook. She's an MFA candidate at U Mass Amherst.

To link to this story directly:

Read other SM stuff from the archive.

Detail of photo on main page courtesy of walknboston.

w i g · l e a F               11-13-10                                [home]