#92, Lorraine

You always used to come shuffling along the sidewalk. We could see you when you appeared at the corner, and then always knew to do other things for five minutes or so because it took you such a looooong time to reach us. But as soon as i knew you were in earshot, i would put down my roses (or sunflowers), smile and say 'Hi, Lorraine!' A whole world of young, gleaming adults zoomed and bustled by on either side of you but it was is if you didn't even notice. You would carefully navigate your walker over to one of the crumbling concrete tables in our ersatz seating area and then sit down with the speed of a sleepy snail. Our boss had known you for years. Every so often we would put a broken daisy (or iris, or whatever) into a water tube and rubberband it to your walker to brighten your day. You wore men's clothes, and had such awful personal hygiene that it was sometimes quite off-putting, but we knew you were very old and when you get to that age 'whaddya gonna do' (your words). You lived on the next block over and had someone coming to look after you but we never met that person so it was very hard to imagine. One day my coworker told me a story you'd related to her about being young a long time ago in San Diego: When swimsuit lengths were to be no higher than the bottom of the knees (seriously– there were men who measured to be sure), you used to wait until they left and then roll yours up as far as you could get them. It drove the guys wild.

Lorraine, you stopped coming by one day quite unexpectedly. We waited for you all that week but you never came. After a month or more we found out that you'd been put into an assisted living facility. i still check the obituaries. Yours was a life.

#91, Diane Morse

Diane, you were so maney.

i had never heard anyone use that word before and, quite frankly, had never met anyone as bursting with life as you. You called weed nuggets 'Percivals' and it was impossible not to laugh in your presence. A smirky grin, mohawked mop of bleached curls, dimples and tight jeans with a studded belt, we worked together at the flower shop while rocking out to such '80s greats as Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys and New Order. It was always a rollickin' good time when you were on the schedule the same day as me, and i looked forward to it. You smoked a lot of pot and fell in love with someone else's boyfriend, who fell back. You two caused more than a bit of a commotion, and then moved to New Orleans together, where you and i quickly fell out of touch. Except once, a few years later, when i heard through the grapevine (maybe you'd called the flower shop?) that he had died, of a stroke, at the young age of twenty-something. You had never left his side at the end and said it was beautiful and pain-full, the hardest thing you had ever had to (and would ever have to) do. A couple of phone calls after that, and you were gone. i don't know where you are or if you're happy, but i hope life has evened out and opened up for you.