At a Crosswalk

By Alexander Lazarus Wolff

I saw the man in a dream. His tweed 

jacket was threadbare along the length of the

sleeve just as I remembered. People rushed

around him like water tending to a stone.  I did

not know what to think at first. I thought perhaps

I was hallucinating, for I had not slept in two

nights. But as I scrutinized the lines creasing his

face, I realized  

that he was real. His aviator sunglasses

trapped my reflection, and I could see on

each lens my growing distress. The world

began to move faster — cars volleyed down

Lamont Avenue; the noonday  

crowd quickened to a stampede 

like people rushing out of a burning

building. But he just stood there, staring at

me. And I stared back, attempting to unearth  

whatever secret lurked behind those sunglasses.

About the Author

Alexander Lazarus Wolff is a student at the College of William & Mary. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in “Main Street Rag,” “Serotonin,” “Eunoia Review,” “The Plentitudes Journal,” “Remington Review,” and other magazines. You can find him on Facebook at and on Instagram @wolffalex108

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