What do you want?

I see her from a distance. She’s sweeping the footpath. It’s cold and damp. She’s long and slender, grazing the pavement with such intent.
She’s looking at me, broom in one hand, cloth in the other. What is she doing? Is she taking my photo? I can hear the words through her expression.
I’m stopped, it’s cold, camera in one hand, light-metre in the other. I’ve been walking around for two hours. Searching for the perfect subject. Can I ask her? Is it weird?
I say hello. She’s staring at me blankly. She starts to wave her hand in front of her, she’s saying no to me, but I haven’t even asked for anything. I step forward smiling. She starts to yell at me in a foreign language, Vietnamese maybe. I’m confused. I’m not generally a scary person. A young man appears from the terrace. I say hello. He’s confused, wondering what the fuss is about.
“What do you want?” he says in his broken English.
“I’m just wondering if she would mind if I borrow her broom for a second? I would like to take a photo of it, if that’s ok?” I ask, sheepish, aware that I appear slightly nutty. I wasn’t really staring at the lady. I was in awe of the broom. In its pink glory, resting against the backdrop of this rundown Surry Hills terrace.
He turns to her and races through a sentence in the foreign language. She starts to laugh, and hands me the broom.
It starts to sprinkle rain, my view-finder is wet. I try to work quickly, aware of the lady’s confused and amused gaze. I hand her back the broom and smile and say thank you and scurry off.