by Sparks In Shadow
Inside City Hall wearing a hoodie, Harrison Ford waited, leaning against pale marble veined with deep gray. It looked like history.
Sliding down the wall, eyes nonchalant but aware of us, his grin bloomed like it was mistaken identity that made us think he was special, like making movies was mostly the hard work he waited through, amusing himself and us. He stood to slide again, like Riverview amusement park rising out of the past, entertaining us anew, but with his face.
We’d been admonished not to speak to the actors, but he invited us to smile with him while he played.
The prompt was, “mistaken identity” — from Lisa. (Yes, this is a true story. I was an extra on “The Fugitive.”)