When I was five years old, I thought that the mica flecks in sidewalks was god and no one else could see it. I became mesmerized in its dazzling presence. Sometimes tethered to my Mom's hand, I would refuse to budge. I'd clap my hands to express delight with the light bouncing beneath my feet. It inspired me to take up tap dancing, hopscotch, and smoking.

I still feel this way. Except for the god part.
By age twelve I was an atheist and refused to attend mass at Holy Family.

I put my foot down and refused to budge.

This led to a brief conversation with my father.
Why aren't you going to church?
I don't believe that stuff.
How do you think you got here?
I suppose you had something to do with that!

I took this pix of the sparkling ramp a few nights ago on Juniata and Bent. While smoking a cigarette, I managed a soft shoe shuffle and clapped my hands in delight.


7-letter Deborah, never a Deb said...

In Baltimore, where I'm from, they used to mix blue glass chips into the asphalt. I was mesmerized.

Christian Herman said...

I want to see a photo of those sidewalks, Deborah! PLEASE go back and snap some!