So this was a little weird. Matt and I are sitting on our "stoop" eating our Matt-made ginormous sandwiches when we hear shuffling gravel. A shrinking old woman appears through the hedges. It is hot. She is wearing heavy black trousers, a white wool sweater and heels. She is carrying a purse in one hand and clutching a cigarette pouch, lighter and white wool blanket in the other.
"Where ist das funf street?" She asks in a thick German accent. Um. She whips a folded newspaper out of her purse and waves it at us. She explain in mixed German and English that she is looking for a garage sale and has been walking and walking and can't find the house. And now, she pants, she just needs to "sitzen." And promptly parks herself on a stack of bricks beside me. Um.
"Mochten sie eine tasse wasser?" I stammer, is it der, die, das? I don't know but it's hot, surely she needs some water. She answers without noticing that I was speaking to her in her native language at her random stop in Carlton. This is odd to me. I mean, it's not the only thing that's strange in this little scenario, but still. And then, typical European, she takes the glass of water to be polite but never takes a sip. (well, how many Europeans do you know that drink water?)
Okay, so I'm thinking signs of mental illness here include the blanket and the wool sweater on a hot, hot day. Also the garage sale she was walking all over town to find advertised only one thing for sale: a ping pong table.
What was she going to do with it? Hump it on her back?