Crossroad Empires
The two are within a block of each other near the northern edge of downtown. Whether in cahoots or competition, both stake a claim on their respective stages.
One, a conductor at her podium who stands mid-intersection directing nonexistent traffic. What plays in her head is anyone’s guess.
The other, a fly fisherman whipping shadow-cast figure eights over the empty street; determined to find meaning when there is always a catch before his release.
As cars arrive to nudge both experimental theaters, a dance ensues to the tune of one long echoing symphonic honk.
Twirling, arms waving, she casts a spell over her orchestra pit to silence the critics.
In turn, determined to nibble at traffic riffles, he continues casting over the damned stream.
Being between two showpieces, I watch both while more cars arrive, increase dynamics of horn blow crescendos, then inch in, threatening these dominions with a thousand pounds of steel.
Reluctantly, but with impeccable choreography, they relinquish their performance sweeps.