She had that skinny, dehydrated body with a raspy voice that long-time cigarette smoke inhalers have.
You could tell she is an open book and an eager kindness, the one that you can’t help but respond to favorably.
Her husband happened to be a mix of contradictions, mostly of the repulsive kind.
Next, an unlit cigarette sticking out of his mouth, the man reversed his car for me to cross the street. There was no additional emotion or acknowledgement of his accommodating gesture other than a brief eye contact.
The heavyset woman in a wheelchair, dressed in all flowers, was adamantly discussing something I chose not to eavesdrop, as I continued on my search for a tea kettle, which I couldn’t find in the jewelry store tended to by an anorexic-looking, tattooed and pierced woman whose spine was curved inward and downward, as if she was trying to hide into herself. Or maybe her world was too weighty for her to carry. She couldn’t have been more than 45 years old.
“Hello, baby!” “Hey, baby girl!” Nothing special in these greetings, just a standard choice of words extended to strangers. It functions as an immediate acceptance into the heart of the one bestowing the sounds, just as it disarms the unsuspecting ear of mine. It makes me giggle and throw out a figurative hug fueled by my heart’s joy.
