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 https://www.facebook.com/wolffalex108/ and on Instagram @wolffalex108
Nebulous 