She sighed, “I miss those days when string quartets played luscious waltzes, women all dreamy in white taffeta and lace. The men, all dapper, in vested suits, watch chains gleaming.”

“Or the marching bands, all bang and bluster, strutting into the park. Folks waving flags; little ones hoisted up on fathers’ shoulders to see the parade. Hip Hip Hooray!”

“The courting couples, moonlight-dripping, holding hands, making forever promises.”

She sighed again. Now, it was graffiti artists, teen agers smoking and drinking. Broken bottles, broken dreams. Skateboarders shrieking, wheels scuffing.

She hummed her favourite waltz, remembering.

“Jack, did you hear that?” Andy hollered, as Jack was getting into the cab of the backhoe.

“What,” Jack replied,

“That,” Andy said – “Sounds like something from one of those Netflix movies or historical Hulu junk Amy watches.”

Jack shook his head, and powered up the engine. Shouldn’t take long to knock this old bandstand down.

for #writephoto: bandstand

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