She walks towards me, shiniest shades I’ve ever seen. I can see my reflection in those mirrored aviator lenses. I wonder where she got them.
Pushing her cart past me, she mumbles to herself, I think. I don’t take the time to hear if she was asking me for the Times. Or for a bottle of water. Or anything in fact.
The nerve, I think to myself. Wearing those shiny shades. Asking me for things.
But then, what do I know? Who am I to judge?
Maybe she found those glasses. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she bought them with all the money she stashes in that cart. I don’t know. And honestly, it doesn’t really matter.
One thought on “Those Shades”
no it does not matter, you can not believe how much money some people make picking up junk and bottles , etc, and what people find in the garbage.