Four Mile Run
By Amy Souza
Inspiration piece

After the storm, the floodgates opened and poured out a brown murky rush. It flew down its usual path, bucking up against concrete banks, topped with detritus picked up along the way: mile after mile of cigarette butts and beer cans, takeout containers and Slurpee cups, mysterious paper objects and every so often a novelty—a baby’s rattle, a dog’s collar, what looked to be an artificial limb.

Bouncing along, this river of remnants assumed a life of its own. Viewed from above, taken in as a whole, the thing mesmerized with its contrasting colors and changing composition. The way it moved made it appear sentient.

One could accept it, too, as evidence of our existence. No animal but man could create such an artifact. One could feel proud, if one were so inclined.

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