encounter bespeckled Their hands brush briefly as they walk past each other. She stood on the corner of 5th and Main, a long cream scarf draping her shoulders, illuminating her cheeks and making her dark brown hair even darker. When the walk signal appears, she steps off the curb, her white dress floating from her body like a cloud. She could be somebody's painting. He reaches the middle of the crosswalk, anticipating the morning coffee that waits for him the next street over. He licks his dry lips and strides eagerly toward the next sidewalk, unencumbered by the crowd accompanying him. He walks, oblivious. A suggestion of roses. He glances up. A contented sigh. She looks toward the sky. "Beautiful ... my God ... never before ... who ... if only ... my dream ... never again" Their hands brush each other, the detection of the bones in his knuckles shooting like lightning to her brain. The cold softness of her skin opens his eyes. Their feet carry them on the current of the crowd. She brushes her hair behind her ear; he runs a hand upon his chin. She ponders the strength of his hand; he contemplates the color of her eyes. The crowd shifts them onto their separate sidewalks. It swallows up two figures on their separate ways. 030107 what's it to you? who go blather from