Maple Street is no different from any other street in the village, but my feet move lightly over the tarmac and my burden swings from my hand as I walk past the street sign. The sun is high in the sky now, my shadow a small smudge leaking from the soles of my shoes and time takes on an eternal quality. An invisible thread draws me relentlessly smiling up the broad tarmac track between the back yards where a quickening breeze has picked up to a warm wind and the damp bed sheets billow like impatient sails. Each stop seems an endless interruption and I find myself gazing up the street as customers fumble through purses for coins and pout over decisions, hoping for a glimpse of a head of brunette hair pulled back in a clip.
The sun slips behind a cloud bathing the street in cool shadow as I approach the end of the street, but I am suddenly warm. Sweat gathers on my collar and drips down my back. My case should be lighter, but is a lead weight dangling from my arm and my heart is beating too fast. I try to appear nonchalant, rearranging my features even though I know it is pointless. These women do not need books to read and in their sideways glances I feel them perusing my thoughts.