Continued from our August 30 Issue
All the scuzzlecrafts were out and about. The view through our man’s windshield showed the completeness of the system as he went flying from level to level of the city, drooping, soaring, twisting and canoozling (if he had ever chosen to be daring). The skyscape was never as beautiful as it was at rush hour. The sleepy sun was almost beneath the ocean and darting wizzerskids alongside leviathan autowoofs rose above its electric amber glow casting shadows on the clouds above. The skyfull of shiny cylinders shooting below mulberry and barley colored clouds, going to and fro all in a hurry to get home before . . .
His feet never fit comfortably into his shoes. Once he had a pair of sneakers that made them look like the feet of a fat man squirming into a pair of dress spats several sizes too small, but mostly his feet looked like dead fish crammed into cases of canvas and leather.
“I wanted him to come back,” she said, the sleeve of her striped pink blouse sagging to expose the protruding, wing-like bone of her shoulder blade. Sloshing the water around in her glass, she whispered, “I need to get this water out of my veins.”