At least it doesn’t hurt.
It’s a heck of a world after all. Just today — earlier in the afternoon — I had watched the last of the rain clouds bunch up in the eastern sky on their way to drench someone else for a change, and had rolled the Lowrider out of the basement before seeing the local sights on a two-hour ride that eventually had me seeking refreshments at my local Ingles Grocery’s in-store cafe.
That’s when she walked by my table.
“You look a bit old to be riding that bike,” she said, looking at my helmet on the table, then looking at me.
I knew right away she was a retired schoolteacher. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said, then added, with a look I’d adapted from one of the John Wayne westerns I’d wasted time watching a few weekends back, eyeballing her from her toes to the tip of her nose, just like Wayne had done, “I’m a little too old for everything except that one thing.”
“Well,” she said. “I’m not going to ask what that is. But you have a day, now hear.” And with that she turned to her cart and pushed it toward the display of peaches and other fruit Ingles had stacked along the cafe frontage.
I watched her go.
She wasn’t bad, either, I thought, for an older woman.
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