The first thing I noticed in the lower level food court table that was in front of me was a pile of cookies on a napkin. Then the soft layered grey white hair slightly bobbing above the soft fuchsia sweater. Parkinson’s perhaps? How would I know. Sad and inspiring at the same time. Immediately I though she deserves all the cookies she can eat. Then another woman, could be her sister with the similar colour and more severe cut hair, sat in front of her. Two paper cups and a white paper bag. She said in a barely hearable high, whisper type of voice, “Tea”. Quietly and clumsily the white paper bag was opened by the well woman. Food court sandwich already cut in two. They each took a side. I wasn’t sure if the soft haired woman was talking. I could not hear anything because of the ambient boisterousness of much younger folks. Add to that screaming chairs dragged against the tile floor and beeps and whines from vendors machinery keeps private conversations private. The thought rolled through my mind that they were on their own, no men in their life. What a stereotyping. I didn’t feel sad, I felt inspired that no matter what the circumstance, they were enjoying some time together. The softhaired woman seemed more focused in her animation, her friend, opposite was chuckling. Good sign of a good conversation. Then I could hear the soft-haired woman speaking in a solid present voice. Her bobbing was pointed and seemed to accent her points she was making. A good sing, I guess.
The windows are vast eyes to the forest outside. Hard to tell when green and glass end and begin. I’m told the floor is bamboo. I wouldn’t know. It’s smothe, pleasant brown and feels good on the bare feet.