The Billowing Bluev

The Billowing Blue

I am walking home with large strides for my short legs. The pavement supports my rubber soles rather rigidly. A  Snickers' wrapper lifts as I pass by and then I walk over someone else's tissue.

I lift my head and pause for a moment at a large store window. All that's left inside is a sturdy wooden desk to the right and a row of hangers in a wood-paneled open closet to the left.

The woman who used to own the shop would sit at that desk day after day waiting for someone to enter. Rarely did I see anyone other than herself in the shop: the price of the clothes was prohibitive as well as the expression she came to wear every day...

Oh! There is a gust of wind that makes me squeeze my jacket around my neck. As I observe my movement in the glass in front of me I glimpse a billowing behind me.

I turn around. There is an elegant man walking on the other side of the street. His gray hair is cleanly cut around his ears in contrast to his moka skin.Maybe he is from the mauritius Islands because there are a lot living here, or possibly from Pakistan. Unfortuately, I don't know enough about either culture 

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