Red... .. . Her toes wink their cleavage in her red silk spike`heeled pumps. She considers the edge, her next move, the eel of certainty. Street wisdom knocks: it is the nature of walking to connect. She thinks about the flag of Japan, it's sun refusing to set. Meditates on dwarfs in the sky, on the little boy stuck in the wing of his last play house. For him a Radio Flyer would be best, red and smashing as her Revlon *Cherries in the Snow*. She stops to light up, takes her spot under dreamy globes of mist`defying watts. | 