A one-hundred word story.
I’m cashing today’s sales at the bank. Five thousand and sixty-eight dollars. My finger tips steal over the notes.
The lady at the teller, I recognise her face, I last saw it leaning close against a drain pipe, her chin propped by a sign: domestic violence victim, need help.
I see her eyes move left and right along with mine, recollecting that sign.
Thank you, she says.
I’m confused and say, no, I’m thankful for your help today.
She shakes her head and smiles, no, I thank you for the six dollars you gave. I printed my resume with it.