Street parlor

The big woman and the small woman embraced at the corner where Starbucks stands. It's cold, but neither has a coat. One has on a sweatshirt, the other a double layer of old flannel. A suit walks by. Some pumps sway by. A woolly cap and scarf stroll by. The two cross the street. Talking loudly, as if in their own parlor, almost singing, almost dancing, in their old shoes. A trench rushes by. Leggings and flats saunter by. The gloves and earmuffs amble by. The two nearly trip stepping up to the curb, a dizzying five inches off the ground. The fat one sits down on the bench under the bus shelter. The small one, still swaying, chanting takes her leave. The sidewalk is front and center for them, their stage, their receiving hall.