In the early 1950s all sorts of salesmen came to the door during the day. Mrs. Patterson’s habit was to personally entertain as many as she could manage. It was said in the neighborhood that the Fuller Brush man had… Continue Reading
The first was a flat tyre. Tim rolled up in good time, wrench in hand, smile in place. “Knights of the Road.” She laughed with relief. In her forties, bottle-blonde highlights. Hint of desperation that predated, he guessed, the roadside… Continue Reading
“It’s seven-forty,” she announces, with a tone that reminds me why I don’t cook her breakfast anymore. “Will you please wake up and listen to me?” I roll on my good shoulder and look into the bathroom. No eye contact… Continue Reading