This week or any other, daredevil, watch your step.
"As with juggling, the key to life is to keep the procession moving steady and don't look down."
He wondered where they'd end their journey, primary colors tumbling over sidewalk cracks and crumbling curbs, red disappearing into a sewer grate or touching just enough of the rusted plate to bounce and be devoured, digested by the dark underbelly of a parked Toyota; yellow resting comfortably in a tree lawn, the cast shadow of a telephone pole transforming it into a lime that had slipped out of a torn grocery sack; blue, who knows where he would end up or if he'd ever be found.
He wondered if she'll remember to play that song, the one he never learned the title of but whose melody moved from cloyingly sweet to heavenly the moment she began to dance in her seat, swaying for who knows how many traffic lights, not even stopping as they stepped out, her ebullient laugh disarming his embarrassment with ease.
He wondered if she'll serve food on those plates, the ones from their first apartment that even after moving once, twice, thrice, they couldn't bear to part with, cheap, off-white china ringed with thin strips of black and something that was supposed to be gold but was more the hue of a daffodil slowly drained of life in the doggiest August sun.
He wondered if she'll forgo the whole goddamn thing because it'll cost and even now, especially now, they -- she -- couldn't afford such an expense.
He wondered if she'll be alri --
She wondered if his last thought was of her.