Passing Corners

She stood on the corner, pressed against the brick building. Her white hair billowing in the breeze, saggy skin and worried eyes showed her age. The look of her face suggested she had to hold onto the building to know which was hers, the way back to her front door. She bit her lip with her gums, short a few teeth this early in the morning. The sun glinted off passing windshields. Cars were a constant stream on the their way to work, carrying all the varied people to their paychecks.

"Gretchen," she'd say sometimes to passing people.

They never answered. Only stared with quizzical faces.

This mad her smile. She was amused to see confusion because that was her mind these days. When she was young, there were events and memories and people. Now she was old and what there was ... was a string of days that all seemed to be the same.

"Gretchen," she said.

"Hello," said a woman from a window above.