Sanding machine

Sanding machine, sanding Mary’s living room floors, up and down, back and forth, long narrow strips of wood- yellow- gold- little white dots- long narrow spaces between planks, small lights sparkling between cracks. Is it mid-afternoon or is it midnight? Five handsome Cubans circled around a large litter can turned upside down, eyes all staring up above- waiting for the cracks to fill up with shadows. A few drops of sand fall between the cracks. The time is ripe; the leader climbs up onto to top of the liter can, peering through the narrow cracks. All files unzipped, all beat in time with the leader, sanding machine making loud noises. One slip in your walk you have a large gouge in the floor. Hands become sweaty, blisters begin to show on the hands, always looking behind, careful not step on the leather cord, whipping it to the left then to the right. It’s midnight; lights flicker off and on like diamonds between cracks. White trousers in kneeling positions, switchblades snapping in and out, cops hiding behind columns, flashlights going off and on, and bodies felt up. Do you give it, receive it, or take it? Mary returns, she had a great time in Europe, and bought a new car. Sliding her feet on the newly shellacked floors as she glides in, dropping all her packages to the floor screaming, “ The floors are gorgeous-just gorgeous!”