Watching

I watch her. I always watch her. She’s a creature of habit. Every Tuesday morning she comes here, waits for her red haired friend who’s always late. She likes to flick through the magazines, the glossy ones, but she only ever looks at the pictures. She’s always smiling through lips stained with dark lipstick, Damson Cherry (I asked at the boutique). She sips her tea and always adds a second sugar halfway through. That’s when the red head arrives and there’s a flurry of shopping bags, apologies and gossip. They clap and squeal and then whisper. Always whispering.