Someone is walking past a shop in town. A few racks of clothes stand outside the door, two or three, close enough that they belong to the place, close enough to the walk that they interrupt the walk. The racks do not say the shop’s name again. The name is already on the window. They put this season where the walk already is: a sleeve you can touch, a price you can read. That is part of what makes the person slow down. Balloons on a car lot can be seen from the road. The racks