Pause.
The worlds of make-believe and reality were rubbed together for a moment in the sun. It had been hot all afternoon and the heat was finally getting to the lithe young man. The warmth of the sun was sucked into the void that was his perfectly black hair, causing a fit of dizziness. Normally flawless white skin was tanning as this time there were no shadows to hide behind.
Days like this made Bumlets wish for the winter.
He was blinking, a rare moment in time where everything seemed to pass by him so slowly. Some sort of dream in which his senses were heightened to abnormal magnification. The smells, sounds, and sights around him danced as if though painted in the purest of oils.
A mother and child sat in their squalor across the way from where Bumlets was selling, the perfect Victorian image of da Vinci's Madona Litta. Next to him, frozen in time, were two of his fellows. Each with one arm raised, newspaper brandished, they were valiant alter egos of St. George, slaying their dragons.
It was days like this where God really appeared to be real, where Bumlets felt the power of the Lord alive in his veins. Days like this when he knew that angels spoke to him. Life might have dealt him a hand that he would have not expected, but in the moments where he felt everything, those graceful pauses, he could feel assured that life was worth living.
A mental image of the moment locked in his mind, Bumlets blinked and set the world back into motion.
"Nothing is as far away as one minute ago."