To the consternation of one Delilah Veronique U'utumblondh, 78, a retired green-grocer from the South Bronx, New York, her favorite walking pants – the ones that wick moisture nicely and that fit snugly around her thighs – are still quite damp. “They had originally gotten wet the other day when I was gardening on 6th and B,” said Ms. U'utumblondh as she was mounting the steps to her narrow but brightly-painted row home. “I thought that by wearing them yesterday while walking with the ladies from the community center on our daily hike through town to pick up trash that they would dry out. But, alas, they are still quite damp here, and here.” The native New Yorker, whose parents had emigrated to the United States from Ghana in the 1950s, sighed deeply in an apparent effort to control her emotions, shaking her head as if to drive away tears. Then, she entered her home, straightened up a bit in the downstairs living-room, removed the moisture-tainted pants, and hung them to dry on her backyard drying rack instead of putting them in the clothes-drier, since it looked like it was going to be a sunny day outside after all.
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