Go

With the drum rattling gone, the day carried on, and the dissident left the pavement. Over the road and onto the grass, a wide open expanse, skipping over a path or two when he came to it. Milling around in a great arc and the steel above his head subsided. Never able to keep away from the bustle for long, he turned into the sweep, the sway and to and fro, the marching mass, as it ran like a conveyer of faces. Through a door, into a store and the gentle browsing begins. The eyes wander and trip over a sight. The sight of a figure. A familiar figure? S.H.