“Words, words, words …” she mutters, “Words, words, words …”
She pauses and repositions her hat to keep the mist from her face. A man walks by hat pulled low, coat collar up, studiously ignoring her. When did she become invisible? She shakes her head and says to him, “How does it go? Please … I can’t remember …” No answer. Did she say it out loud? Or only inside?
She pushes her cart along the sidewalk, the wheels squeak loudly. “Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind …” she shouts. And then she whispers, “...the slings and arrows … outrageous fortune …” A woman and child ahead of her cross to the other side of the street.
She knows the words are there, she can feel them on the edges of her mind, just waiting to be found again. She reaches the end of the sidewalk and gives the cart a well-practiced shove onto the grass, careful not to tip out the precious contents. She makes her way to her shelter made of pieces of wood and a green tarp and unpacks her cargo.
The books, the books will help her remember.