USP - Day 43
Across from me, an elderly couple connives. I can hardly call them elderly, because they have a spirit that is lost in connotations of the word. But they are.
The woman has jet black hair. She wears a blue striped men's button down, hanging almost to her knees, covered with a tweed jacket. They're both wearing dress pants - hers black and his beige. She leans into him with her legs crossed at the knee, looking past her dark shades to his permanently worried face, like one of Tim Burton's leading men. His hair is gray and stylish. He's thin as a rail and his dress shirt and green army jacket make him look like someone I've seen at a basement punk show. They get off at Charles MGH. Of course. Who gets off at Charles save for beacon hill richies, esplanade tourists, and mysteries like these two?
From their first step onto old work boots, they walk in perfect stride, so that the matching wide brimmed camping hats strung around their necks sway in perfect unison.
Love isn't dead! It's just old!