dough.

it was early evening, summer, it rained earlier, so the tarmac was still wet as the sun was being cooled by large grey clouds. I was sitting on a bench a few yards from the front door of the presentation house gallery, taking a coffee; a latte actually, when I saw a woman with long grey and black- salt and pepper hair, wearing a bright orange dress, a red t-shirt with the number 31, and a green draw-string back pack, holding a crunched up dominos pizza box who was approaching me. in all, she resembled an over-sized child in her late forties. sure enough she sat down beside me. i didn't notice she was also carrying a black, well over-ripened banana in her other hand. i then peeped through the corner of my glasses what she was doing with that old greasy pizza box, and saw her open it. It was full crumbled, expired pita or naan bread. she then surreptitiously squeezed the mushy banana into the bits of bread and started kneeding them together for several minutes.
"are those clarks" she asked me pointing at my feet.
"yeah, they are. they're comfortable" I replied.
she told me how she used to wear them in france, but couldn't find them here. I told her I bought them in portland. she has a friend who drove an orange hippie van all over oregon.
our conversation about footwear ended, and she got up with her doughy banana mixture, carrying it with that pizza box and went by the chestnut tree and plopped it in one big bunch underneath it, right by the trunk, and walked off.