Agnes Bradenton sat and listened to the air around her
in the diner. it was the normal chatter for a normal Tuesday
afternoon, but it wasn’t normal at all. Agnes felt the seething
warmth of the coffee through the eggshell white porcelain
mug. it helped to calm her nerves. but it didn’t fully ease her
worry. the worry that tinged her four block walk to the diner.
the worry that began with a phone call and the phrase, “Agnes,
i’m sorry…but your late husband’s pension company has gone
under. you won’t be getting any more checks from them.” that
check meant a great deal to her. it was helping with bills, bills
she was still paying off for Roland’s last days in Beth Israel.
bills that kept her from being on the street. she focused on the
warmth of the coffee as she waited for her grilled bacon and
cheese sandwich. and a way out of gloom.