She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. It was a young girl who overheard me when I was on my third shopkeeper who answered my question. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. I never saw a man who wasn't. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said.
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