Woman outside the pawnshop toward Onan Road here on the weekend. A casual glance brought a stop a few paces ahead after she had passed.
Busy couple days running out to the dock at Pasir Panjung, meeting a relative on a short stopover, not really any time to linger. The woman had been forgotten and returned to mind early Tuesday morning, retrieved from the dust-pile.
Bent almost double beside the entryway of the shop; husband had kept upright. A soft cooing might have drawn initial notice, audible even over the traffic.
Bent almost double beside the entryway of the shop; husband had kept upright. A soft cooing might have drawn initial notice, audible even over the traffic.
Mid-aged Chinese, English-speaking, gentling the ginger tab there just beside the doorstep. In order to leave passage the woman had turned against the wall.
Certainly the ginger in particular drew the people here, the women and children. The unremarkable pale reddish tinge of the Coloniser.
Heat blast; at the eateries clusters had formed around the pillars mounted with fans. Crowded walkway; the pop-up hand-cream table had the Indon maids thronging.
Husband had merely lent forward, his tone and posture suggesting he was delicately attempting to draw his wife away.
The woman patting. She could not keep one at home, for whatever reason. (A good, amenable fellow the man, merely firm on the single point.) Out in the field the affection flowed unrestrained; gushed a bit indeed. Patting was one thing, nothing remarkable. But in this instance the woman was stroking, patting and wiping beneath the chin and along the side of the neck with tissue in-hand. It seemed to be a wet one, of the larger, bonus size. Doubtful that the moisture had come from the mopping of the cat. Hot albeit—and the woman's action showed her intent. The coat of the cat could not have given off that much fluid.
Poor thing. Feels the heat so bad. (Samoyeds and Alsatians were often kept here even in the condos.) Lady could comfort the animal if nothing else.
Husband had merely lent forward, his tone and posture suggesting he was delicately attempting to draw his wife away.
The woman patting. She could not keep one at home, for whatever reason. (A good, amenable fellow the man, merely firm on the single point.) Out in the field the affection flowed unrestrained; gushed a bit indeed. Patting was one thing, nothing remarkable. But in this instance the woman was stroking, patting and wiping beneath the chin and along the side of the neck with tissue in-hand. It seemed to be a wet one, of the larger, bonus size. Doubtful that the moisture had come from the mopping of the cat. Hot albeit—and the woman's action showed her intent. The coat of the cat could not have given off that much fluid.
Poor thing. Feels the heat so bad. (Samoyeds and Alsatians were often kept here even in the condos.) Lady could comfort the animal if nothing else.
Like the human traffic, the poor animal must have stopped beside the doorway of the shop to collect some of the aircon within. It had likely been chased out from the shop before. The Pawnshop gave off only low-level breezy cool; you needed to pass slowly hard against the wall in order to collect anything at all. (Nothing like the booster NTUC or the malls pumped twenty metres out. Try your hand on the checkout rail for example.)
The tissue sagged from the woman's hand either end. Those wet ones often carried a touch of aloe scent; an added benefit for the poor distressed creature.
Goochey, goochie, goo. Poor love.
Goochey, goochie, goo. Poor love.
Hus slightly embarrassed at the diverted tenderness, you could tell.
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