“It’s like knitting a scarf,” the woman said, plopping herself down with another G&T.
She appeared to be talking to me, so I glanced her way.
“Life, I mean. It’s like knitting a scarf. You choose the colours, and make it as long or short as you want. You can make an intricate pattern, or keep it simple. It can be dull or exciting.” As she looked up, I noticed a tidemark on her neck.
“I suppose so,” I said uncertainly, taking in her unkempt appearance.
“D’you want to see mine?” she asked, opening a large carrier bag and pulling out something woolly. She proudly held it up. The lower end of it trailed on the floor, soaking up a pool of questionable liquid.
The scarf’s erratic hues screamed painfully at each other. Shamelessly dropped stitches and ladders gaped.
©Jane Paterson Basil