The Indian women

Standard

who live in our building never spoke to me before.
They pulled their kids close to them, speaking in their language, afraid that our nearly toothless and almost completely blind dog might harm them.

Now, we have polite passing conversations. “How old?” one asked me at the mailbox yesterday, her five month old bouncing on the swatch of colorful fabric gathered at her hip. “Your first?” another asked, offering wishes for good health and happiness.

We smile when we pass on the stairs.

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