I’m finally here. The old ladies are very old. They are shriveling up, like raisins, becoming smaller and smaller. I assume their intention is to vanish altogether some day.
The people on the train all talked about various illnesses, hospitals, doctors. It rained during the trip and once I got here the old ladies found it best for me to wear a sweater. For once they liked my dress, a long white dress a friend gave me in Barcelona. They seem to also approve of my shape and size, which is rare. “Not skinny, not fat,” they proclaimed. Then they thought better of it: “Maybe still a little too skinny.”
They fed me rice with boiled carrots, that resembled rice I used to eat as a child, also roast chicken, and a salad that was very sweet. We gave some scraps to the feral cat that comes to visit looking for food. “This cat is very ugly,” the old ladies said. “We preferred the blonde one, but it’s been gone for years.”
