Be Patient, I Think

Today I saw an old lady coming out of the house. I would guess she was in her eighties, and she had a helper who supported her arm while she stumbled down the front steps. She also had one of those wheeled walking wagons, the kind that serves multiple purposes, as a weight and balance support device, a miniature shopping cart, and a private bench when exhausted of walking, for example. 

Two steps, from the front door to the ground, a good height to practice crooked grinds or tailslides. But instead of checking the wheels of her skateboard the woman grabbed the handle bar of her wagon and released the breaks that disabled the cart from moving. Slowly she started walking. The helper saw her leave and the woman waved her good-bye without looking back. 

That happened a few minutes ago, across the street while Aloe Blacc was Delivering the Words and I was leaning back, sipping on my mocombo cappuccino, whatever that is. A glass door separates me from the rest of the world and I enjoy the mute business that happens outside. In front of me lies the short story that is waiting to be translated everyday. Be patient, I think. I'm doing the best I can.