She has a thick, low voice. Raspy, like a smoker’s. Or like she’s had reflux for the last 25 years. Her skin is the color of curdled milk, and I’ve never noticed the color of her eyes, but the rest of her is stout and square, with a similar face. Her hair is always cut in an awkward series of right-angles, bangs the result of the ole bowl-over-the-head-method.
And she almost never smiles.
She is ‘Dopo Lady’, and she is our anonymous, unwitting Val di Non friend.