They crossed the street waist to waist, arms around each other, slow and careful. He was a kid of barely eight helping his mother traverse the road. They paused on the curb hoping this mother and daughter who stood with a gap between them would spare some change. The woman had a pair of red basketball shorts covering her face; she put it down to speak. Her face was askew, her lips on the side of her face. She was mumbling a few words when her son distactedly picked up some pellets along the gutter. She was handed som coins and they continued walking again in the same manner they did when they crossed the street. They were walking straight but it was clear that there was weakness in the mother that the boy had to carry.
(writing practice inspired by unphotographable.com)