For the next twenty minutes I crouch in her yard going through my stock of grey shorts until a suitable pair is found while she regales me with the horrors of youth. I listen, attentive and concerned to stories I have I heard a million times before, though they never grow old, log the sale in my little black book and snap my case shut.
“Would you be going up Maple Street?” My new customer enquires, tipping her head to one side to hold me to an answer and ignoring the baby who is venting its frustration by throwing itself backwards, pinching its features and whining.
“Yes I will be,” I smile pleasantly
“Thought you might…”
I beat a retreat tipping my hat as I leave, my face beginning to flush at the amused assumptive look that follows me.
Hope For The Tally Man
