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In Congress Park, the bricks of the old casino, and its windows turned to hammered brass by the setting sun, were reflected, rippling, in the duck pond. A new bride walked with her groom for photographers, dragging her white satin train across the new grass in front of the carousel. Another woman, perhaps attached to the wedding party, glittered in flowing lamé like spilled gold as she ran to her car.
I sat on a bench, listening to music and reading The Riddle-Master of Hed, until the evening air grew too cold for the T-shirt I was wearing. While I was sitting there, a little boy in a blue hoodie toddled in pursuit of two ducks, shouting "Duck! Duck! Duck!" They took refuge behind my legs, where they quacked conversationally but wouldn't let me pet them.
I sat on a bench, listening to music and reading The Riddle-Master of Hed, until the evening air grew too cold for the T-shirt I was wearing. While I was sitting there, a little boy in a blue hoodie toddled in pursuit of two ducks, shouting "Duck! Duck! Duck!" They took refuge behind my legs, where they quacked conversationally but wouldn't let me pet them.
