thank you.

The parking citation officer has circled my booth at the very least seven times. Turning each round like a marionette, as if to show a different pocket on his tool belt each time. Even though it is overcast his eyes hide behind brand names, and gleam grey clouds every chance he tips his head to see if he can write one more ticket- which is quite often. He stops on all four corners at the intersection, spinning toward the flowers like a sunflower does the sun. Leaning casually on any pole nearby.

A boy in brown holds his phone across the street, out like a compass. As if he depends on it to take him somewhere.
He holds the position and turns in jerky stacatto movements.

A leaf with brown creeping up the sides lies defeated on the floor near the trash can where it almost belonged.
Couples come and go, drive and turn, drink that think loudly- their expressions like a Dr. Seuss picture book, their dogs leading their lives.

A woman's scarf dominates her entire body, and the only word I can think of the man beside her is: camel. For so many reasons.

I look to the heater: recently cured by a good old fashioned american thump on the side, wishing it would grow arms and reach around my cold places. All of them.

A little girl is wondering and wandering drawn to the booth while her father discusses her on a cell phone nearby. I fight the urge, noticing a hybrid baby rose clutched in one first and an apple juice strangled in the other
But I am completely enchanted by this person. So along with my heart and head I grab a tiny daisy and rush outside to offer it to her fist of flower. She takes it and the dad pays me in more thank you's than I can count.

The only currency left that's worth something in this world.

I sit back, smile, and
thank the heater.