James McKimmey

“ A million people shifted and stretched and scratched. The sun rose above the horizon.
Celebrity day.
Doors slammed again, and half-consumed cups of coffee lay cooling behind. Children wiped at sleepy eyes and mothers swept crumbs, touching self-conscious fingers at their own bed-ruffled hair. Laborers and clerks and lawyers and doctors strode down sidewalks and climbed into automobiles and busses and sleek-nosed elevated trains. The city moved.
To the center of the city, where the tall buildings stretched to the lighting sky, came the horde, like thousands of ants toward a comb of honey. ”

“ Men in white caps hustled in front of the lined curbs, shouting, carrying their boxes of ice-cream. Men with buttons, men with pennants, men with balloons joined the shouting, and the sound rose in the air and the city smiled and shifted and its heart pounded. ”

“ And the black car was moving swiftly into the city.
Beneath the buildings, marching bands in red and blue and yellow uniforms stood assembled. Girls in short skirts and tasseled hats spun silver batons into the warm air. Bare legs kicked. Black boots flashed.
The crowd swayed against the ropes, and there was laughter and sweating and squinting.
The black car reached the heart of the city. Sirens died. Rows of men snapped to attention. Policemen aligned their motorcycles. ”