Wednesday, February 16

She's heavy, her skin is bad, her eyes are dilated, she lurches from side to side as she walks.
He's old, he leans against a post, he is trying to catch his breath and it won't come back.
In her tight jeans her legs are skinny, much too skinny. She pushes a pram. Her make-up is thick.
I don't know them. I worry about them all.