BONSAI

Eventually, the whole town came out to see it. Why would you not? It was too small, too delicate, to even be photographed. All the papers carried were vague descriptions; newsreaders were reduced to incoherence without the shortcut of even a still image. I joined the long queue, the line that snaked from the museum right back through the city and out to the edge of the freeway. I passed people I hadn’t seen in years, nodded politely, exchanged theories as to what it would look like, once we got in to see it. I spent hours waiting, shuffling, waiting. Night came. I watched people leave the line in front of me, scattering like seeds in the wind, curiosity waning against hungry stomachs, unswept floors, unmissable television developments. Eventually I left too, tired, cold, irritable. There’d be a photo, somewhere, eventually.

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