The women come in the morning down the hill bags over their shoulders hips that had born children mothers aunties daughters careful with their steps. Past the bars with the men fortifying themselves with wine and coffee. Past the church where people fortify themselves with hope and faith every Sunday. Past the rock where Saint Vincent preached to the sinners. To the stone baths: one for the soap one for the rinse one for the sick. A week of washing a week of stains sweat beans. While scrubbing away the dirt they speak careful with their tongues washing away quarrels with their neighbours disagreements of their husbands and insolence of their children.
Atmospheric ....a little story ....a piece of life.
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