White-trunked paper bark birch trees lined Duncan Street. Little golden spots of light wiggled through the dancing leaves. I was so happy to move onto the only pretty street in Killeen, Texas.
My car broke down, and I decided to walk to church. Car after car pulled over, and men kept, well . . . umm . . . blush . . . Duncan Street was where Johns and walkers met up, more-so than all the rest of Killeen.
On my drive to work, I got so I recognized the women who regularly walked down Duncan. One lady in particular, was a tall, thin, older black lady. She had a certain way of walking that was very distinctive. I have bad eyesight, so I recognize people by how they move. I began picking her out of the crowd in other places, like Walmart and Henderson’s Family Restaurant. It seemed like she was a completely different creature in each environment I saw her in.
On Easter morning half the people in church were people I’d never seen. I noticed a classy looking black lady in a ’40s style dress and hat. When she walked away from church, I smiled. I’d know that walk anywhere.