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Twenty-three years—that’s the last time he had seen Vera, her face flushed and skin glowing. Now, she pushed a cart with fruit loops and spaghettiOs. A girl of ten or eleven, platinum blonde just like her mom, trailed after Vera.
He noticed her face, hardened somehow, the skin tighter. Softness is what he remembered; smooth cheek, supple breast. This gaunt mother gave him—her past life—a brief glance, an old building long-since torn down and built anew.
He watched her move away, rubbed clammy hands on a pant leg, and emptied his basket at the self-service checkout.
-----Bioflash archives
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