Show Stopper

The tangle of brush blurred in my peripheral as I biked down Ravenswood Avenue on my morning commute, already late and sweating, weaving among the potholes I knew by memory.

The tulips were, at first, hidden in the weeds and shrubs next to the train tracks. But as I pedalled closer, their crimson petals emerged, spotting the brittle overgrowth in defiance.

Like dried flecks of blood,

or a punctuation at the end of a matter-of-fact statement.

Making me stop.

And take

notice.

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