You know those “mall walkers” who spend their golden years doing stiff-legged laps past the Old Navy and the Cinnabon like they’re on some sort of mission?
“They creep me out,” a friend once joked. “Something in their eyes, if you cut them off.”
My pal and his imagination, I thought at the time.
But then I looked closer . . . .
I recognized in the faces of that silver-haired assemblage the men, women, and children gone missing in my city.
Lollygaggers. Window-shoppers. Those who got in the way.
They’re doomed to walk now, too.Forever.