The old woman and Starbucks

The old woman is sitting here in Starbucks.

She has salt-and-peper hair, wrinkly skin. She wears a light blue sweatshirt and matching sweatpants.

She doesn’t remember the name of her daughter or son. Or the town where she lives.

Or anything.

Whoever is with her left her. To shop. To grab a bite to eat. To do something. And here she sat, for a long time, at a table, looking very confused and not knowing what to do. A clerk came over and asked her some questions that are answered with confused shrugs. A security officer stops and takes down information. I tell them I have a good people finder database, and can look up her name.

Just then, her daughter comes in. The line in the supermarket was long. She was held up. Sorry, sorry, sorry. The old woman smiles—a face she recognizes.

She shuffles out, happy.

Life never ends well, does it?

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