For Wilshire Baptist Church
Working upstairs at my desk, I saw movement in my peripheral vision. I turned to look out the window and saw Carla walking down the middle of the street. Her mouth was moving as if in conversation, and she was shifting a small black purse from one shoulder to the other and flipping the top open and shut repeatedly. When she doesn’t have the purse, her hands are always moving like she’s recalling gestures from an old dance routine. She walks with purpose like she knows where she’s going, and yet I know she is lost in a certain way.
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