There is a row of people waiting to cross the road. They are lined up precisely, like a fence. Across the road there is another row of people, also waiting to cross.
Everyone’s heads are turned in the same direction, assessing the gaps. But the wait goes on and on, people begin to talk, especially those who know each other.
One lady says, ‘This road…’ but I cannot hear the rest. A man nods, his face turned to the traffic.
Across the road, people come off the kerb, move out, then go back in again. They shrug and laugh, showing nonchalance and humour.
On this side, three tradesmen have joined the row, carrying food and cokes. They brace their shoulders and wade out, their orange vests illuminating a path. The traffic slows. Everyone surges.
A group of three friends make to follow, hesitate, move back, move forward. Splutter, laughing.
One girl says, ‘For God’s sake, walk properly you idiots, and they hold on to each other and move with determination. But there is a long quiet gap now, they walk across easily, and behind the group, a little old lady moves quickly, darts between them, and makes the kerb first.
Image by Julia Whitehead