a geriatric medusa

wind up following the crazy old lady with a wig quite accidently. at least initially. just looked up and there she was. walking a few feet ahead of me. saw the back of her head and knew it was her. no one else has quite the same geriatric medusa look going on. at least not in this town. so, i followed her for a little bit. intrigued...

why would anyone wear such an obviously hideous wig? what could possibly be worse than that mess? is she doing it because she's crazy? or she thinks it looks good? god, help her if she does. is she bald? or is there a hole in the side of her head oozing old-lady mucous juices? gotta keep it under the wraps of her faux folicles? what is it? why?

i quicken my pace. walk shoulder to shoulder with her for a brief moment. glance at her quickly. see a wrinkly nose peering from the mass of "hair" on her head and in her face. we come to a stop at a crosswalk. i open my mouth to ask her any one of the various questions that have crossed my mind... but no words come out. the light signal changes and she walks away quickly. i change direction. head back to where i parked my car with mixed feelings of gratitude and sadness over the possible outcome of any sort of conversation with that lady.