Free The Best of Electric Velocipede by John Klima Page A

neck by the evening. She emerged from the kitchen to find her family waiting with forks in hand, chatting happily. But she had nothing to give. Her pasta spigot was dry.
    The following morning she mounted her Schwinn and rode off toward Burger King.

A Taste for Flowers

    Jay Caselberg
    P retty, pretty. So young. So sweet. Not at all like the face that waited for him at home. William shifted on the park bench, rocking gently from side to side, trying to restore a hint of circulation to his numbing buttocks. He’d been sitting for too long in the one position on this faux, Victorian wrought-iron bench, one among the many scattered throughout the Greenspace, but special. This one, dark green, fake metal and fake wooden planks lay close to the playground where he could maintain a good view.
    Remembering, he ran a finger up one side of the old paper storybook he held nestled in his lap, and then slowly turned a page. It was a fine, fine day. Why shouldn’t he be out here taking in the sunshine that filtered down from the panels far above his head. Domeshine, sunshine, what was the difference anyway? It was a fine day. Why shouldn’t he be out here reading?
    A quick glance to either side and he was reassured that no one was watching him. He closed his eyes and drew deeply of the mild spring air, tasting the breeze and letting it out slowly again. The air was sweet—an overlay of something floral—jasmine? Yes, jasmine. Around Greenspace, they filtered flower scents, the hint of new, damp grass, sometimes wet earth, depending on the season. Today it was jasmine.
    He opened his eyes and turned his attention back to the object, the focus of his current energies, his precious book temporarily forgotten. He’d been coming to this Greenspace for about two weeks now, waiting, watching. The time would come soon. He could feel it. It didn’t take much for him to fall in love, now did it? But not yet. He couldn’t allow himself to take the pleasure quite yet.
    She was over there by the climbing equipment, playing with her friend. Small, slim, blonde. Her friend, another little girl with long dark hair, didn’t interest him as much. No, the blonde bob, the smooth, pale, fine-featured face, the blue eyes, the slender arms, this was what he wanted. She was dressed in a pale blue top and matching shorts, some sort of floral pattern on them, revealing her slim, white legs. William passed the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, moistening it slightly, then held the lip gently between his teeth as he watched. A gentle sigh, and then he closed the book, stroking the cover with one hand, working up to standing and making a move. If there had been birds, it would have been perfect, but birds were a million miles away. The colony’s meagre resources didn’t allow birds. Meagre resources—that was why he was here, now, here on New France. Not at first, but now. Now, William worked for management.
    Perhaps he’d have children of his own one day, though in the current climate, that was unlikely—not for some time. Perhaps they’d permit him a nice boy child. It was his social duty, after all—that amongst others. So many others. Slowly, he stood, and then, with a slight grimace, turned away from his object of desire. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he could show her how much he loved her, really loved her. And she’d understand, of course, but not yet. He had to leave now, go back to his assigned residence, his assigned building, his assigned wife number one, all of it sitting crouched and compact beneath the vast dome that kept them all safe. He doubted very much that there’d be an assigned wife number two. They just didn’t understand. Assignment—love. How could she understand?
    He walked back toward the park entrance, slowly, savoring the proximity of his real love for as long as he could. The book clutched in one hand, he strolled across the open grass, his long coat buttoned down the front. He was pleased with himself