Missing

I haven’t seen either them for a while now. I used to see them both, not together but separately, most mornings. The bag lady I’d see walking either to the all-night garage on Mill Street or away from it. She had a very distinctive rolling walk and she’d always carry a supermarket plastic bag in her hand, whether full or empty I couldn’t tell. And, come rain or shine, she’d be wearing her pink or blue sweatshirt top. Her hair hung from her head, unkempt and greasy. And she never gave me any eye contact and often, if we crossed each other on the Prom she’d stop walking and turn to face the sea until I passed by. The Sikh was equally diffident, never replying when I said good morning, his white clothes a beacon in the dark. He strode rather than rolled, a thin, upright man of immense physical dignity. Sometimes he wore an anorak over his white. He walked for exercise, that was clear, swinging his arms as he did so. Where have they gone?