The lady in question had spent her time and had her work cut
out for her.
I left in the same elevator as a plastic bag full of many of
her things, having become company property, disposable.
I still think of her, on the times on the bus when we met on
our way to work, hearing her cry out for the crime of criminality.
While vacationing in France, my nieces, who didn’t know her,
complained about how the roosters woke them up when the birds came calling.
