The woman ahead of me in the express line at Whole Foods wore expensive running shoes and sported an expert haircut. A fine sheen of sweat coated her skin. She was digging money from a zipper pocket on her running shorts to pay for a bottled water but came up short by 46 cents. The multi-pierced checker stared at her with a look that said, “46 cents or no drink.” The woman . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “46 cents.”






Grocery stores are excellent locales for casting my condemning stares on all the unsuspecting characters of my unwritten blog posts. People in the checkout line are so vulnerable and childlike. They thumb through People magazine and ponder last minute impulse buys. I dissect them with my critical eye—my writer’s eye I tell myself. I compose their life and death from the details of faded tattoos and extract adjectives and insights from the disheveled contents of their rickety shopping buggies.
I would have donated the 46 cents. One in Goodwill the lady in front of me with several children needed $1. so she would not have to take something out of her cart. These were children’s clothes. These are little things we can do to help people.
I will never forget the look on her face when she said “thank you and God bless you.”
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