Meals on Wheels Month Ten

“Who are you!?” the small, furiously smoking woman in a red windbreaker shouted at me just as I sat back in the open hatch of the Prius. She had been pacing along the edge of the lot when I pulled in and froze, fixing a tilted stare at me as I double parked and prepared the car for the food containers. She had the aspect of a strange, frothing dog as it stares at you just before charging. Had I invaded her territory? Why was she now sallying across the lot, arms pumping akimbo, like a billowing Mississippi steamboat reaching upriver at flood-tide through the Cairo bend?









