It's so hard to tell anything these days, to sort people, sexes, even beliefs. She feels like plowing them down, this pair who are now hugging on the yellow line like some permanently inserted traffic cone. Pedestrians seem to be reproducing at the same rate as Mildred and Stanley, the guppies Sammy had when he was five. Taking over the Square like the infestation of lice that once ran rampant through the first grade. Her Square, she thinks.
Daisy checks the doorway of the Unitarian church for witnesses.
Nobody's there except a street person mounded under a pile of what must have once been quilts of many colors but have all aged into an indeterminate gray. Age and change, the two enemies she's sleeping with. And Henry, she adds, though lately there hasn't been a whole lot of that. She pulls into the spot marked for clergy only and tries to tamp down her guilt. Besides, she believes in the separation of Church and State.