Never Quite

In the lot behind the bus station a bicycle wheel stands upright on a frame of chrome bars hung with cardboard cubes, with a row of glass jars under it and a string of bottle caps tied to every spoke. When the wind turns the wheel, the caps strike the jars, and the jars ring.

It is a little tune. You wait for it to repeat. It begins to, and never quite does: a different jar answers, and the tune goes somewhere else.

A man stands beside the frame with his clean hands clasped. Somebody brings him a plate of tacos. He thanks them and eats standing up, without taking his eyes off the wheel.

People stay in the lot until dark. A woman near you tries to hum it and gives up and starts again.

When you leave, the jars go on ringing behind you.