Lily
I just walked across the corner to A&M Variety to buy cream for my decaf. The store had been cleaned and scrubbed, and the shelves were sparsely filled. The dour old East Indian man had disappeared from behind the counter. His sombre relatives no longer skulked beyond the back door and the dark, hot smell of their food had evaporated like a spirit. The apartment behind stood empty and freshly painted. The family had lived there since I moved here in 1998.
A spritely Asian woman stood tinkering with the till. "I just buy and move in yesterday," she replied to my inquiry.
She didn't know the price of cream and was going to charge me for a carton of chocolate milk: $1.50. I found and pointed out the tag: $2.99.
I welcomed her to the neighbourhood and took the unusual step of introducing myself. It has bothered me that I barely know people with whom I do commerce every week. Her name is Lily.