Noosh Powell

It was becoming a habit. “Sit there boys, don’t move. I won’t be long”, Dad barked. Steven looked on. “Do you recognise him Paul? Is he the same bloke as last time?” I couldn’t see clearly without my glasses, but I could make out a long ponytail and biker jacket. Both were facing away. We checked our watches. Mum was expecting us back for five o’clock. It was quarter past. This was the fifth weekend that Dad had overslept and forgot to take us back. But he always remembers to meet strangers on the way.

Seed by Noosh Powell. Image by William Eggleston.

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