Old. Old and wrinkled. Old, wrinkled and small. Old, wrinkled, small and very nun-like. Her serene face and drab clothing reminded one of Mother Theresa or at least what a lay person’s distant memory of Mother Theresa would yield in the Brooklyn portion of a ride in the MTA subway.
Her hair was mostly grey with patches of light brown that hinted of a different color long since past. The hair was also thinning and her hairline receding. As such, the short pixie-style bob that was her hairstyle probably the best solution to maintaining a veneer of style given the scarce resources.
Her face was an amalgamation of wrinkles. On her forehead, around her mouth and leading to her neck. Her eyes were very deep set with dark circles that were really more red than they were just dark – serving to highlight her eye bags in a manner that suggested a medical issue. She had no eyebrows and age spots dominated an otherwise blemish free complexion.
The thin hair revealed a pair of rather large ears – relatively speaking. And the neck was typical for a woman of her years. More cruel people would commence with the joking not realizing that we all befall the same fate eventually.
It was a black v-neck cardigan. But surprisingly stylish when one got a closer look at the details – there was a white trim on the lapels, the two outside pockets and on the bottom of the jacket. Plus, the cardigan had these gold buttons which made for an interesting contrast of colors and textures.
She was wearing a basic shirt buttoned to the collar, but the print was a black and white print that suggested a more post-modern artistic approach. Think of a cross between Pollock and Mondrian.
The rest of her ensemble was basic black. Black ankle length skirt. Black walking shoes. Black leather handbag.
The one little other spot of color? Hosiery that was obviously maroon.
Thinking back now, I didn’t get a chance to look for a crucifix. Or did I miss that?