As If a Bird Flew By Me: A Novel

Of Radios and People

35 OF RADIOS AND PEOPLE The rhythm of the commute, jazz on the car radio, a regular snare beat—the same tempo as the gait of the girl crossing at the light, matched to the hazards of the stalled Mercedes in the turn lane, to the exact downbeat of the limp of the older man looking down to the sidewalk, hands clasped behind his back. The trumpet’s amblings intertwined with a woman walking, her hair set free from her hat and grazing her shoulders, sprung along with tempo and line, the cadence of the setting sun, a trumpet pulling the beat out of each of us, out of inanimate objects , out to those who don’t know they are listening (trumpet echoing, underwater the guitar tumbles, feedback backtalk—) ...