The woman looks a bit too old to be called young, too young to be called middle-aged. She is unselfconsciously carrying a jhaadu like a shouldered rifle, its business end pointing at the sky. The slightly paunchy man walking beside her can safely be called middle-aged. She smiles at something he says and hesitates a little before replying. As she speaks, her smile broadens and she throws back her head a little in a well-what-do-you-say-to-that attitude.
A motorcycle honks angrily behind them and they hurriedly get out of the way.
snarled traffic a kite cruises lazily past the sun
Johannes
2009-11-27
Copyright Johannes Manjrekar, 2009
tempslibres.org