On the subway platform sat two crumpled men in their fifties, unshaven but dressed in clean clothes. They were drinking beer, and they were not waiting for the train.
“She had perfect ankles,” said the heavyset man. “Just like the ankles of the woman I lost to the ballet.”
“The ballet?” said the man with the moustache.
“Yeah. You need good ankles to be in the ballet.”
He saw me look over and said, “Isn’t that right? You need good ankles to be a ballerina.”
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “For the ballet, good ankles are vital.”
