The Red Haired Lady

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The red-haired lady adds her sense of style to my block. Her hair – red like kool-aid, yet it’s clearly not a kool-aid dye. But the color is definitely her.

She emanates old New York.  Her hair is elegantly styled and she’s dressed in the cutest outfits that add to her charm and appeal. Her tapestry bag at her side. In her bag? I have no idea, but I imagine it’s full of old letters from her deceased husband, scratch tickets, old newspapers from the 1940’s, maybe a picture of her cat with a crown.

She perches on one of the stoops along the blocks or in the worn-out office chair that stays outside the whole-in-the-wall magazine/lotto/candy stall. She just sits and observes, sometimes scratches her lotto tickets or reads the paper, smiling and enjoying her time.

Part of me envies her, having the respect of others or authority to sit in that chair.  She’s clearly build her relationship with the magazine/lotto/candy stall owner. I look for her daily, but she’s not always there. And I wonder where she is. I wonder where she lives and if I will see her again.

I wonder if she knows Gilligan, the man with the hat that sits at Pescatore.