French Toast

Watching Mr. Pasquette walk the wire between two towers took no time at all if you saw it via the broadcast news. However, (toot horns), I could see half of it live, right out my window and was so immersed in his concentration that time slowed to a molluscan dimension; a cautious, tendril of a foot balanced his weight forward in meditative time; I willed him to stay up, move deliberately, to grow roots into his line. It took forever. He stopped, knelt, tipped a hat, saluted. An animated dot, he shortened as he knelt. As he gained the safety of the ledge, I saw him scamper down the terraced levels supporting the towering Statue of Liberty replicas, a mannikin upon the horizon in the sky. I clapped, not loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Thank you, Mr. Pasquette; you stopped the sun and inserted your own version of time like a wedge between o'clocks. It was fun to see you. Au revoir.

Hours. Sleep, please stay.