Dandelion

realism, all over

Here is a whisper in a field of shouting.

I overheard a small woman on her cellphone: “I’m sorry,” she said. “My father is dying.” The espresso machine whirred and she tucked long red hair behind her ear and clutched the phone between her head and her shoulder, freeing her hands to dig in her purse. She tapped a credit card to the point of sale machine …