She was at the stop, waiting for a bus. (Long time no see.) She used to be seen on the mostly silent ride at 7:55 in the morning, down the hill into one of the hearts of town. She’s the one who, slightly worried, once inquired of the driver if there was a strike on. She didn’t seem to mind it when a loud voice occasionally got on and rattled on about some intricate case on the phone – lawyers on their way to court – and one time she was chatting at the stop with what looked like one of them, snippets of the “values of modern society” which brushed by slumbered ears on the bus, proving her point probably. Her brownish hair had started to thin out and she wore lipstick of same color. On winter days, a funny-looking puffy coat. On warmer days, boots gave way to open-toe sandals.
PaperShots 