Beaumont Street Coffee Shop

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Young women these days. Such lack of propriety!
When I was a girl,
going out in public with my knees bare and hair wild as a bramble bush would have been simply scandalous!
But no one cares about that nowadays, oh no.
It's all about promiscuity and "how flamboyant can you be." Tsk. Young peacocks. Forever preening about.

That old carrion crow over there is staring at me something awful.
Just because she's long since gone to seed is no reason for her to judge me so severely. I mean, honestly. No one needs pruney old cows staring at your legs like they're something shameful. She's just going to have to deal with the fact that women don't have to cover their ankles in public anymore.
And what is that horrid hat she's wearing? A bowler?

That dress is far too short. People will think she's a loose woman with all that leg showing. And if she thinks just because she's wearing long socks it's decent, then she is much mistaken in the matter.
Shame, though. She seems like an intelligent girl: reading the current events section of the newspaper, I see. But she has clearly no sense of decency in clothing!
She'd be a pretty thing properly dressed and with a bit more meat on her bones. She's terribly thin. I wonder why...
Anorexic, perhaps? Smoker?
I guess you never can tell what's going on in people's lives, especially these days.

Will that woman never stop staring at me? She doesn't even know me, why does she hate me so much? She's practically trying to bore a hole through my skull!
Why is she even here? If I'm bothering her so much, she should just leave. She looks pretty well-to-do, rich people don't just loiter around in coffee shops.
Huh. No wedding ring. I wonder if she ever had one. Widow, maybe? Or maybe she just has such a sour temperament that no man ever wanted her.
That's kind of sad. No one deserves to be alone, however grumpy they may be.
Maybe that's why she's here. Maybe she doesn't have anyone to see or any place to go.

Here comes Don. I'd best be off.
(She folds up her newspaper and stands up slowly.
A man comes in, walks over, and puts his hand behind her back. They walk out together, talking quietly. The old woman on the bench watches her go, the formidable expression on her face softening into sadness.
She sighs and tilts her head back to touch the oak panel behind her. The woman watches through the glass as the young couple walks down the sidewalk, their hands linked together.
The locket against her withered old chest vibrates with the pulse of a gently beating heart.)