The Mural on 1420 Crescent Street

Setting: Outdoor terrace with Cohen’s gaze. Sun: Shining. Sky: Not baby blue, that would be too pale. Bright blue. The usual color of sky on an early afternoon in downtown Montreal. Noise: Two voices having a conversation. Beer: Sitting on a table.

“I don’t take her out in winter..”

“Really? Mine needs shoes in winter.”

“Well, she doesn’t wear them. I ordered some on Amazon,” said the one with pink nails “so I never take mine outside.”

A pencil of sun drew itself on the beer, its outline thin and wobbly.

“I really didn’t think last winter was cold. After the heart attack, I always felt warm.”

“Last winter was cold.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m actually good at taking my medicine now. My son gave me this pill dispenser which was usually for elderly people who don’t want to forget their medicine. He got me a stylish one so I won’t let that slip my mind anymore.”

The pink woman looked. The other woman asked her what she was going to do for the rest of the day.

Pink woman: “I have lots of things to do at home.”

The other one said: “That sounds boring.”

A waitperson made an appearance.

“It looks like your veins are popping out” said the one that was sitting opposite the pink one. The pink one disagreed, she was convinced that it suited him well, the painting on his skin.

“Did you cry like a baby?”

“Yes, for four hours.”

The conversation took a turn when the garçon left.

“Her white is so white”

“Do you brush her teeth?”

“Yes.”

“It’s impossible for me. She won’t open her mouth.”

“They’ve got to get used to it. It takes time.”

“Mine is a brat! She just loves taking baths. Every time I run water, she jumps inside. Such a brat.”

On the building, Cohen’s gaze had veered to the left, following the movement of daffodils after a sunny day outside. The two women and their mutts thought it was a good time to go now – they took out their purse, paid and just left.