The city is melting. From the tallest building the rays hammer invisible across the gaps far below and in-between and reflect all the way to the ground where the earth sucks them up through its coat. Steel-glass buildings groan but stay still and silent in their protest, sunlight prisms and spreads into color on the walls and the floors but outside it is still the color of concrete noise and bustle.

The hottest day of the year; the very hottest day of the year. The dire hot sun forces itself upon the horizon of pavement. The heat dances above the ground, whispers illusion to him, liquefies the road, sets it shimmering and softening. He turns away.

On his left a flower vendor set up on the sidewalk, shack rambles intrusively into foot traffic, pleading growing diminishing wailing summon of lonely foreign voice to fall under his trance, the blurry rainbow fragrance hue of blue and purple and orange and red and

Green skirt flutters just above the gutter. He jolts, eyes dart to snatch another glimpse of it, but it whips away around a pair of pinstripe business legs and briefcase. Through the thick flowery space he falls forward and around and through the faces and ties and heat of the sun and the lonely foreign flower voice calls out behind him but he won't turn back. Arms and shoulders brush him with their friction and weight him as if they were his own, as if he grows wide and freakish and can't catch his breath or that glimpse of her through the eyes that stare past him.

The traffic blares and screams howls at him mocks freak weight gained in last eight seconds through the crowd. The sun red-orange like the flowers like the shirt of the man next to him with stripes and pinstriped legs and briefcase still hide the whipping dress just out of sight. Intersection crossing light stream of faces and beating hearts flow like blood and water through the heart and faucet of the city but the blue walking man stumbles, the solid red hand raises in scorn and the faucet clogs, the heart stops for good. A solid wall of backs and fronts moves away and toward him simultaneously, the collage of the morning disguises her, harries her away to the underground.

He freezes at the curb. The traffic kicks up grit in funnels inches away from toes aligned perfectly with the concrete edge. Even still the sunlight bounces downward from the city pinnacle to spray a white-light-dissolved wheel rainbow prism on the ground.

Maybe the dress wasn't green at all.

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