SATURDAY IN THE LATE MORNING I stood at the letterpress in the front window, poking along on a little job for an acquaintance, when I looked up to see two young women-maybe late twenties or early thirties-walking hand-in-hand down the other side of the street toward me. They were wearing baggy fluorescent shorts, and nothing at all from the waist up. The shorter of the two was wearing a back pack, and the straps made deep impressions in her shoulders. They both had very pale skin.
Traffic was heavy. No horns honked, nobody yelled anything out a window. A black fellow crossed their path, walked up to the intersection, waited for a gap in the lines of cars, looked both ways and crossed the street. A family of mom and dad and two kids ambled maybe ten feet behind the topless couple in that lurching fits-and-starts way that people with two small children get anywhere; one kid running ahead as though to dart into the street, one lollygagging behind and threatening to get lost. Nobody came out of doors.
What you will find scarcely credible is that the taller of the two was on roller skates.
June 7, 1995
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