4

There is a woman who stands at an intersection every day, directing traffic. She is a prophet. Her hands spread, wide as God towards the lowly cars telling them to slow themselves or quicken themselves or stop themselves all together. She wears a dirty brown shirt and dirty blue jeans and lifts her head to the skies once in awhile to receive her own directions. The cars drive as they will despite her motions, but she takes no notice. She is a prophet.