Atlas & Alice | Issue 7, Summer/Fall 2016
Liquidity Crisis The one who whispered through the bench slats about the liquid drying up was painting the bench with a stiff-bristled brush. The sign he left was for our notification: Better sit while the sign still applies. He turned up again under the parking garage, mouthing the drain lid. (It’s true it never rained here, but it was time to hose the concrete.) Some said they heard it coming from the snowed-in fire hydrant, “Shovel me out.” Others said the sprinkler system had a new pop and hiss, but the men in the rain coats denied it. They weren’t too aware of exterior conditions. On this we can all agree: Three years ago we saw him in the city’s burbliest fountain, trading aggressively. Delphina’s mouth squirting, and Cupid’s bow sourcing a dribble. We threw him coins then, for wishes, and clapped in delight, like seals. He threw us back kisses, and made oinking noises. It can’t be his fault, or ours. All it took for a business 56