An elderly lady shuffles into the café and places a cushion on a hard wood chair. With a steady pace, deliberate as a trail of marching ants, she fetches the day’s paper on her next outing and arranges it before trudging to the counter.
Time has settled into her bones. The weight of the life she pulls behind slows her down. On her last trip, she carefully lowers a small cup to the round table. Finally, she sits and reads. She may go quietly into the night after all, but not without knowing what she’s leaving behind, and not before enjoying one last espresso.