Evening

The woman needs to fuss over someone: an acquaintance would be best, but a stranger will do. The light is just beginning to fade and she has already put the kettle on the stove for herself. Often at such a time, she feels like this. She opens the front door. The street cannot be seen from here but the noises travel this far. Slapping her thighs she calls and clicks her tongue. Then, having snapped her fingers in a final enticing manner, she drops to her haunches and squats on the doorstep looking to left and right for anyone coming scampering down the alleyway and round her corner. No-one does so, and a few seconds later she goes back inside, really not much disappointed.