There was a man on the doorstep, all leatherette shoes and easy iron trousers. When I say doorstep I mean the pavement between the threshold and the hazard lines of a busy junction.
His head, too
...
[+]
when your hair tickled your shoulders and a widow in a floral
cardigan wrinkled her nose, patted your crown, and mis-
proclaimed, "such an interesting girl." It's the same carelessness
attending other glances, when lights merge to beams and starfish
mask as stones, grinding and bumbling surf through the foam.
"They can't run or walk," you sighed. "So they just dance."