Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Short Women

I quicken my pace to keep warm, and to get from my front door to the subway station with as short an exposure to the chill morning air as I can manage. Even beneath my space suit of a jacket (vintage Woolrich, tweed, fluffy collar and a weight like I'm being hugged by a very friendly bear) I still feel the cold creep up my arms and legs from where they're exposed.

I hear her before I see her: the brisk, businesslike clip-clip-clip of her stride coming up from behind. Before I know it, she's already past, almost a foot shorter than me and at least double the speed of my loping gait without even seeming to work that hard.

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