Folding wooden chairs with darkened hand worn backs, rounded leg bottoms, these chairs, each with evidence of wet mops that had slopped up against, and a high water mark that each of them shared, some low flood that they all had withstood. The four legged chairs atop vinyl squares. Gray, white, black all specked tiles, vinyl or other, all layed long ago with expert precision. A checkerboard pattern, edges now curled, corners broken, all sheen and the luster lost with long time. Etched to dull flat the surface now attraction- to dirt and distraction. How many weddings, the dances, the wakes, romances, all those chairs still held. Fat fattened mothers now Grand, Aunts and all Elders, skin spots, and hair hair nets, and waddle necked Nances, big skins that hung from their raised arms. Jewelry all costume, pearl, ivory, turquoise, silver and gold, fake true treasures adorned. Proper old blouses for each of those group gathering events, and all those yet to come. The dresses and blouses all were held waiting, then worn, and continued awaiting to see one another. Flat shoes low heals, and clear vinyl pieces cover their hair- upon entry, that rain would have well flattened their gray, and their white, and their straw colored hair. Broaches and pins and stories within.. A 1 million things, but for only old women.