They come out after midnight when all the bars and restaurants are closed. They come holding books and pamphlets, reading aloud to each other. Rain moistens their paper. Lightning causes howls and genuflecting.
Readers take over the streets, words rule sidewalks, climb buildings, leap back down, mixing poems and prose. The city becomes one long paragraph, as musical as a string quartet.
When there is momentary silence readers stop in their tracks, eyes closed, meditating on the magic of literature.
One voice breaks the silence. A women with a guitar in the middle of the street. She wants to sing folk songs. Moving as one, the writers charge forward and beat her senseless with their books. Then we resume reading, moving ina stately manner.
Musicians need to get their own city.
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