Through the looking glass

It was going to snow. Nate was sure of it. The sky was gray and the temperature had not dipped below 32 degrees all day. The air was still, a kind of calm before the storm. As soon as he got back the office, he would finish his story, file a few briefs and try to blend in with cattle call of advertising executives the rush for the door at 5 p.m. everyday. Now, it was noon and he followed along with the midday herd on their way to bagel shops and fast-food havens. Nate, with his gut protruding a bit to far past his belt line, steered clear of the burger joints that lined Phineas Avenue. He caught glimpse of himself in the reflection of the long window that wrapped around Mindy's Hair Saloon. At one time, long before Nate had considered a career in journalism, the saloon had been a corner dress shop with elaborate window displays that always featured the latest fashions worn by the more wealthier women of Baltimore. Nate had seen old black-and-white newspaper photographs of the shop's revolving front all in stained glass. Years later, Mindy Schuylkill replaced it with a more conventional, two-panel model that made the building look like a savings and loan in Philadelphia Nate had once seen while on an assignment. Once-in-a-while, Nate would pause at the mouth of the saloon, careful to avoid the heavy traffic of middle-ages women rushing in and out, and gaze at the unimaginative door and dream of stained glass.