Nicholas Zampa

The Remaining Balance

The sun slowly sank in her rearview mirror as Frances drove her tiny sedan to the bank. She felt the sunlight envelope her, even though it first passed through a glass rear window, reflected through a glass rearview mirror, and slipped through her dark sunglasses. The strip mall to her left was baked in an orange pre-dusk glow. A late afternoon in the summer always had this look and feel. An anticipatory calm coddled the town. The day, in a final sleepy motion, stripped down and sunk into a hammock, anticipating a summer’s evening of activities. A few people milled about. But Frances was the one lonely observer to bear witness to this strange time of day.