Tuesdays...

[alasanon]

...bring along clouds in a mosaic slide over the sky. The taste of sugar and salt on your tongue. Sly moments accompanied by the lustrous sound of a saxophone mellowing out into the evening air. A rattle in the darkness--something moving in the dim light, something wrapped in chains, held in a dark place for long hours. The smell of rain coming in to settle over the city.

Tuesdays know their business. They keep their own counsel. The world spins on around them, happier not to know the darker things that they carry in their pockets.