Come to the stair you ascend everyday on this last day of the week, the very same stairs you walked down this morning, and the morning before, up and down, but the stairs are blocked by caution tape, with a bored looking man standing behind the tape to warn you away, "work goin' on," so you have to take a different way.
And the same further up, your usual path to the surface is blocked so you have to go the other way yet again, the way you haven't gone in, maybe, years, following the crowd up into the pewter light of sunset across the street from where you normally walk, patterns interrupted.
Slip on your sunglasses and look at the world while you wait for the light to change, the traffic flowing by on Flatbush Avenue, six lanes wide, the cracks in the asphalt, trees in their last green of the summer, the shabby buildings lit up like the Parthenon in the fading day, buttery gold and grey.
Notice the differences as they come to you, notice before you slip back into the everyday, notice, notice and rejoice.
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