little old ladies know more

think of 2 squat little old ladies with still-black long hair that they wrap in twisted rolls on each side of their heads. they sit at a rickety old table, the table with a plastic tablecloth with browny gray and blue patterns of flowers and babies. The ladies hold onto the rickety table pounding, pounding on their dirty gray blue linoleum floor. They hold identical coffee mugs full of pitch nasty stuff gone cold, and they stir sugar from time to time to make the taste more bearable. Everything in the room is gray and blue shadows and gray and blue flowers past their prime.


"Color, life, all that. Red and pink and green. Those are garish shades I've closed a while ago. Now I act as fits my age," the sister to the left says.


The other sister, rocking the table back and forth, murmurs, "Our hopes are dimmer, but at least we scale back. See, it's you with the problems, always asking for more than you deserve, looking outward. That's why you're so fucked-up all the time. Us, we know our places, and we know not to wear ourselves out and we laugh at you, wearing yourselves thin."


They sit there chuckling and rocking with squinted eyes.