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the center of the room, she turned around and stared at us defiantly. |
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Most folks who have been around me any length of time accuse me of stereotypical thinking, and while I'll admit to a certain amount of this decidedly universal human failing, I will not apologize for the habit. Over the years it has served me well. It is seldom necessary to start from ground zero in assessing new situations. Right or wrong has nothing to do with it. The fatal flaw in this practice, of course, is that one or ten or whatever percent that pops up deviating from the norm. All of this leads up to the fact that I knew I was confronting a 67-year-old widowhence, she should have been white-haired, with kindly blue eyes, slightly stooped, sheltered by a shawl and happily offering us chocolate chip cookies. Nothing could have been further from the package we confronted. |
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To be sure, she was small and somewhat stooped, standing less than five feet. She was the unfortunate possessor of greedy, mud-colored pinched eyes, an ugly squat face and a mouth that was little more than a humorless slit across an ashen and wrinkled face. Her whole demeanor betrayed her perpetual conflict with the world that surrounded her. |
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"Now, ask yet questions quick-like and get outta here," she hissed. |
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The room itself was a chaotic collection |
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