Yesterday afternoon, Helena and I headed out for a longer walk than usual. Destination: the other grocery store, because it has a superior meat counter.
Outside the ATM vestibule were two security guards, one of whom even held the door open for us. Two parking metres flank the side of the building. At one was a youngish, scruffy, tough-looking guy poking the coin slot with the blade of a Swiss army knife; at the other was a neatly dressed couple, also prodding the contraption with various keys and cards. They were still there when I left 5 minutes later. The security guards chose to leave then, too, and one of them entered a nearby phonebooth. I don't understand what they were doing there. I don't understand what would possess people to jab at a jammed quarter for such a sustained period, and without raising questions among uniformed authorities.
Further down the street we saw two of Snow White's dwarfs, though perhaps one of them was a distant cousin, looking less a miner as he was wearing a snazzy captain's hat and cowhide-print scarf. The other was appropriately toqued up for the cold.
I do not have enough hands and feet to begin to count the babies out in their strollers on this sunny day.
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