STANDING

Mrs Throat was standing, with two other women, on the white line runs down the middle of Stokes Croft. Traffic passed in front and behind them and they appeared unaffected by its proximity…
…three women…
Mrs Throat on the left. On the right the oldest of the three, her hands in the pockets of a thigh length camel coloured coat open, flapping in the breeze. Between these two, can of White Ace in one hand, shoulder length hair blowing gently into her red face, the woman who looked in charge…talking.
‘She stands in the middle of the road,’ I thought of Mrs Throat from behind the glass where I sat watching. ‘She with women. She stands for things that make her shout.’