Saturday, September 18, 2004

The little boy had a very red sweatshirt and very blonde hair, and was probably no older than six. A policeman and I were both watching him, and we seemed to be the only ones.
I was waiting outside the library book sale for Jeff to finish making his purchases; I'm not a bookseller, and so I only had a few books and they let me cut in line. The way out is through a hanging wall of plastic strips, and it was guarded by a policeman--a real one, with a gun and all. I can't imagine that book buyers are a high crime group, but I guess they do get a little tense.
The boy amused himself for a while with the plastic, running into them face first and all. But that bored him eventually, and so he came outside by me and started walking like a tightrope walker on the parking lumps. The policeman had stepped outside at the same time and was keeping an eye on him. Just before Jeff joined me we made eye contact, the cop and I.
"You'd think someone would miss him eventually," he said to me, gesturing at the kid.
"I imagine they will. He seems to be entertaining himself nicely."
As I walked away, I heard him hop into a puddle.

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