I went to the supermarket early this morning. On the way, I stopped by my cafe, and met a fellow business owner strolling down the sidewalk. “Come on in for a coffee,” I offered, but he didn’t break his stride. I spied him later carrying a to-go cup from the place down the street. Oh well.
At the Stop and Shop, I waited in line to pay. In front of me was a slender light skinned black woman wearing a warm-up suit, that said “Mama” on the left chest. She was buying what looked like a week’s worth of dinner–seven Lean Cuisines stacked up on the belt, and some oranges.
I always think about the person ahead of me in line–who was she going to enjoy these chicken dinners with, who was the child who called her Mama, and why she wanted to have the same thing for dinner seven nights in a row. But I had to go bake for the cafe, so I headed back to South Deerfield without that answer.
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