The autumn air has a chilly snap. Bundled and scarfed, she and Oscar walk down the flaming, maple-leaf-covered sidewalk. They look at each other occasionally, shyly and smile, each feeling a glow that hadn’t been felt in a long, long time. Oscar keeps his hands warm in his coat pockets. He starts tingling again the way he does when his mother roots around in her purse for her keys.
The pocketed fidgety fingers of Oscar’s left hand jostle a forgotten miniature beach stillife. Gently extracting the scene, he offers the two pearly white shells, seventeen sparkly grains of sand, and a nervous starfish to the closest angel, who happens to be next to him on the sidewalk. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” A surf pounds deep in Oscar’s inner ear. He tastes salt.
Talk of love!
hey, that tickles 