Bristol Lane

Once a month, like clock work, the elderly lady from 1734 Bristol Lane would step into the salon at noon.  The girl behind the receptionist desk would greet her with a smile and a welcome, inviting her to take a seat in the lounge.  For an hour she would sit browsing the magazines, oblivious to the comings and goings of patrons and staff, sipping a glass of water.

At one o’clock she would get up, nod her head once and walk out the door, turn to the right and make her way back down the block to 1734 Bristol Lane.