The twins strut proudly down the avenue, in plain view of all. It's obvious that they have not a care in the world, with their hoods pulled tight on their aging skulls, scratched-up goggles strapped even tighter around the back of their necks. They carry tattered shopping bags, rumored to be filled with decades of newspaper clippings. No one seems to know how long they've worn those goggles, why, or where the two of them live. Rumor had it that one of them died. But no, there they are, walking lock-step, with a determination that's inspiring. Never a smile, but you can sense their contentment.
The streets have changed over the years. Stores open and close. The old charmed faces fade into younger colder ones, and the sense of community folds into a heartless nod of the head. The twins never left, despite their scarcity at times. I'm going to miss them terribly one day — and I don't even know their names.