Honey, you don’t even wanna know. Pay me no mind. Trust me.

She checks the edge of every bench, meticulous with every detail. Eyes squinted with concern.

The two of them, a pair, walking side by side. Each with two tight braids wrapping the contents of their heads. Shawls communicating with the wind. Through the palms, to the water.

She wears silver pants. Comes closer and closer to the gazebo with benches. Cocoons herself with the shawl- the tighter she pulls the farther into her own world she falls.

The few dark spots on the bench are her focus. If she squints and sets her gaze at just the right speck she can catch the grains of dirt slowly morphing, connecting, rebuilding.