a place to spend the morning

here's the first paragraph of a flash fiction piece i wrote on a whim in the wee hours of this morning:

Seymore, seventeen and heading west, in the just-dawn hours of an August Wednesday, was between the cross streets of 4th and 5th, on 2nd, in the Park Slope neck of the Brooklyn woods. He was trying to remember the words to a sad Elton John song he had heard that night when he suddenly spotted a very tall gentlemen heading east on the opposite side of the street. It was the very moment that Seymour had noticed this man that the stranger, who had been and remained staring obliviously down at the ground before his feet, abruptly altered his angle, cutting hard across the car-less road and forming an efficient line in his direction. Observing this, it occurred to Seymour that he should ask this man, as he passed, a question.

the full piece