I cruise the upscale neighborhood looking for parking. Finding nothing near the estate sale, I settle for a space a block over.
Great, I’ll have to carry Craig’s junk all this way. My pace slows as I round the block. Pulling out my phone, I choose a filter and take a selfie in front
On a warm April afternoon, a loud knock sounded at the front door. I set down an overflowing laundry basket and pulled the door open.
The short woman with cropped gray hair looked familiar. “I’m Rhonda,” she said. “I live across the street.” Right. In the three years since we had moved in, she had never introduced herself.
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