https://www.nocontactmag.com/fifteen/parable-of-the-drought-in-circles

Every day we walk the waterfront to get out of the house and enlarge our circle. The balding man who always grimaces when he sees us. But it is a tic. The thin girl speaking pleasantly to air. Her voice carries. The super buff tall man, cutting quite close to people on his run, perfectly coiffed, his radiant shaved chest. The drunk one. The other drunk one. Couples follow us, since we are also a couple. If they seem mis-matched or glum, we raise our hands, to show one method. We have been in love for as long as there has been love. We recently admitted an international, from Canada. Long-necked, neck like a drain snake, with a purpose-driven waddle. Marvelous bright obsidian tail feather created a perfect triangle and the flat feet hid a regal spot of shit. On the throat was a white dot, like those that fall from paper when the hole punch does its trick. Species can join. Even flies, blown senseless in soft wind. The sun itself seemed to apply, reaching for the back of my neck. An audacious move, we’ll see how that pays off in the long run. A man leaning on the tall barrier that separates the strollers from the ruffled surface of the river showed no interest. It’s fine. We’ll be back on the waterfront again tomorrow. For the second time we saw that young girl sniffling on the littered bench. Eventually all will be in, sooner or later, willingly or by enforcement. This is our circle. You cannot put it off forever.