At the counter was an old woman, not the kind you pity with their old bones and feeble limbs, but the kind who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance. She stood quite tall and slim, her short grey hair neat and likely styled with old fashioned rollers, the kind women used to sleep in. Her face is made up with discrete make-up except her lips that are cherry red. Were she any paler her mouth would be garish, but against her sun-kissed skin it looks right. When she extends her hand to shake mine I see the soil beneath her finger nails. A gardner I'll bet. Then I notice her neck scarf, patterned with small roses. I'll bet she has the best front yard on her street.
A wizened face peered out from under a wedge of blue hat, which was the only thing on his otherwise bald and mottled scalp save a sparse fringe of white. His eyes were so heavily lidded and weighed down with wrinkled folds that it was almost like talking to someone asleep, yet he was quite alert. Not seeing Lacy beneath the level of the counter he said “One youth admission?” Sophie had been expecting the croak of old age but his voice was more like a sergeant major, strong and distinctly upper class.