Sunday, September 20, 2015


The woman at our booth at the flea market is a big lady - not fat, but tall and broad and meaty, with a mass of thick black curls sticking out every which way from the top of her head despite her obvious attempt to tame them. Her expression, however, belies her size, and seems timid and small and a little lost, like she is somewhat overawed by the market, or by us, or because she's alive.

I wonder to myself what it must be like to feel as if you're a lost little lamb when, by your looks, you run the place, or you could if you wanted. I wonder what it must be like to have people look at you and see one thing when you feel like something very different on the inside

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