Good People
“Are you leaving?” she asks from the sidewalk as I stood beside the door of my car. “Sorry, just arriving,” I say. I presumed the middle- aged woman in blue jeans and a black t-shirt was hoping for a parking spot in my gentrifying neighborhood. She turns to keep walking. “If you was leaving I was going to ask you for a ride.” “I can give you a ride. I just need to make room.” “Can I help?” She carries my newly purchased flat of red and white petunias inside before hopping into the only passenger seat of my tiny
