Practice writing exercise

June 10, 1985  (I was 40)

Practice writing exercise #2. p.202

from John Gardner, The Art of Fiction*

a.         The aluminum Greyhound pushed the fog from the curb, the air brakes discharged, the door swung open and a thin man in a faded trench coat paused on the step over the curb.  Her red skirt, her red wool jacket, and the red square hat, accessorized by her lips her nails, leather bag and red shoes, caused him not to see his own feet miss the step.  He fell forward toward her then caught himself with a quick stutter step, extending his arms toward her as a minstrel might to end a song.  And she laughed once and clapped her hands together to realize the fall and appreciate the recovery all at once.  He looked up to her and red heat spread across his forehead down his cheeks and neck.  He straightened and walked past her.  Fog spiraled before him, red morning sun burned above.

b.         He held onto the vertical hand post above the step to descend to the door.   The bus swung to the curb; the air brakes hissed.  As the door opened he skipped down the step. He saw her standing there, red figure in the lifting fog.  He missed the step and fell toward her, arms thrusting toward her; he recovered with a quick step. She laughed.  She clapped once.  He stood erect and looked at her.  His lips moved like an echo and she looked at him.  He stepped past her to walk up the hill.  He moved quickly.  Red fog rose from the street, lifting off the morning.

c.         There is the transference of the red color.  There is the falling off the last step of the bus.  It is morning in the city with the fog burning off.  She is the woman attired in red standing in the lifting fog at the bus stop.  The bus is stopping, the brakes are wishing, the door is opening and it is seeing her standing there in red that is not seeing the last step.  There is the diving forward at her laugh and her clapping hands, and there is the transference of the red color with the recovery and standing before here with nothing to say.  And there is the sun on his neck becoming a halo while he walks and does not turn back.  
         *Vintage paperback, 1985, © 1983