Some time ago I was waiting in line at the bread counter to be served while this most aged man beside
me pointed his shaky arthritic fingers at this loaf, then that loaf, but what about that one etc etc.
He couldn't make up his mind. A crusty woman beside me, much older than me but younger than him, looked
set to give the dithering ancient a piece of her mind in the "Get on with it already why don't you?"
So much for solidarity.
I smiled at her, saying "That might be us one day, if we're lucky!"
"You mean unlucky!" Pause. Next breath "I like your accent . . . ."
"I like your accent!" I replied.
"I'm from Brooklyn. We all sound like lesbians." She sounded like Patty and Selma from The Simpsons.
She then went into raptures about how much she enjoyed studying English Literature in the long ago
- you have to hear that word "literature" come at you from a Brooklyn accent for the full impact. The
beauty of Shakespeare, Jane Austen, the Brontes, she was in raptures. Until finally it was her turn to
be served and it was back to bullet talk.
"Gimme a loaf of rye, sliced."
I know absolutely nothing about the people in these shots. All I know is that they are out and about,
out in the streets with whatever it takes to get them there, wearing whatever. Suiting themselves.
With the collective thought "Who are you calling old?"
I wouldn't want to mess with any of them!