Belle's hair was dyed a scorching red that brought out the highlights in her winter coat. Gert's hair was a dying blonde. You could see the cold cling to them even in the subway car, like a body bag, or an ill bred child.
"Put on your gloves, our stop is next… Our stop – it's next. Put on your gloves."
"Did you know I bought this mink coat twenty years ago? It doesn't look a day old. Twenty years, can you believe it?"
"Your gloves, Belle, put on your gloves."
"You see that pole?" Belle pointed to a seemingly arbitrary pole on the passing platform and her younger companion seemed to roll her eyes. The last pole before the dark void of a tunnel. "My husband and I used to leave notes for each other in the cracks of that pole. So many it filled all up and there were no more cracks left. They were the sweetest notes. I'd blush if it weren't so damn cold down here. Only one day we went to our pole to find a bunch of teenagers surrounding it, laughing at it…Twenty years old this coat is. Can you believe it?"
"Put on your gloves, Belle."
No comments:
Post a Comment