They move past with a measured step. Sombre trousers and tight laces. Another pair seem shiny and new. Careful mincing steps. A well-loved pair enter, then stop hesitating, unsure of where to go.
In and out they go. Back and forth. Some shuffling. Other sure. Past all of us waiting patiently on the bench. Waiting in the queue.
Clack-click-clack some high-heels this way come. And then a farmers boots covered in dirt. Takkies squeak past. A new student?
My neighbours perfume is getting stronger. The air conditioning hums, trying to keep up.
A pram! Tick-tick-tick the wheels click over the grout lines in the tile.
No more waiting. It’s my turn. I stand in my comfy shoes, and walk to the teller.
~*~
A little something that I amused myself writing while waiting in the bank one day.
