Before she turns the corner, I've set the bowl on the counter. The door opens, the bells ring, and my aged dog feels his way -- he's blind, now -- towards the front aisle to register greeting. I turn back to my pricing and wait for her to round the corner, and over the stacks I catch a glimpse of her red bob, her glasses, the sadness that sits far back in her eyes. Without looking up, and without a hello, she says, distractedly, "I was wondering --was looking for a certain --" She stops, her eyes locked on the bowl on the counter.
After she leaves, I set a rusty toy out on the counter. . . .
- Born on May 16
- Joined June 30, 2010