By mid-afternoon the kaleidoscope shop had set out a ring of seats no bigger than lentil crumbs. Each scrap of colored glass received a place in the circle and a quiet reminder to say hello before making a pattern.
We asked at the kiosk across the street. "My blue chip waited for the yellow one," said a boy with a paper cone of seeds. "They nodded to the pattern, then to each other, as if a star could not start without both."
The shopkeeper keeps a notebook of thank-yous, written so small it looks like a dance card. One entry reads: "Red met green. The snowflake waited. Everyone sat down."
A rumor on the next street claimed a purple chip had gone missing. It had only stepped aside to let a shy gold one take the inner seat, then came back for the evening turn.