Beads

345. 3pm. Bottom deck, standing by the back doors.

Three old ladies, roughly the same shape and size, filed slowly past me and descended from the bus, plop, plop, plop like three perfectly round rosary beads through unhurried fingers.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s