by Pat Raia
I would see her every morning from the “L” window just as the train passed the Damen Avenue stop: An elderly lady on a rooftop, wearing a neatly pressed floral fabric housedress, getting ready to start her day.
There she was, seated at a tiny dining table meticulously set with a white linen table cloth, linen napkins, a china plate, a fine porcelain cup, and a small glass bud vase containing a single fresh cut flower.
She’d sit at the table and take her time sipping her coffee, thumbing through the morning edition of the Chicago Sun-Times – Totally oblivious to the train rattling past her rooftop – Totally unhurried to complete her breakfast ritual.
And every morning I wondered what she did with the rest of the day, and if anyone cared one way or another.
Pat Raia is a journalist who covers international business, crime, politics and legislation, litigation and welfare in the equine industry. She is also a lifelong poet.
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