Subway parking lot

Those strands of grass stemming higher than the rest stick out like sprouting, scattered facial hair on a pubescent boy. They cover the ground, unplucked, reaching up toward the sky, blowing effortlessly in the breeze. Sometimes a ladybug will land on one of the blades. Perhaps to rest. Maybe injured. And sit to wait, fluttering his wings in the warm Georgia air. This one in particular is covered with small, black dots. And surely quite old, barely responding to any moth or fly or bee that approaches him. Deaf. Blind. Old. Too cool to care. He sits. And in a moment of quick wind flowing across the field of grass, he catches the wave and is carried off.