A few semis cruise through the parking lot or rumble alive. Landscapers take a break from mowing. A delivery-truck driver jabbers with them before loading a dolly. No one honks at me to have my pump or pulls into empty stalls. My legs are already numb from the first hour of sitting—a few more left. Last week I told Mother I couldn’t get there fast enough. “And then I’ll be back down here again to get you.” Us old gals can grab dinner tonight in spirit and then, when she’s with me for good, whenever we want. I told Agee’s I’d rather they not ship her to me.William Auten – “Like Land Does”
“Like Land Does” (a story from Inroads) now available on Substack.