Old people? Dirty people? Widows in dead men’s hats?
I didn’t.
George used to say a raised voice only proves the other fellow’s point.
He said it to me a thousand times over fifty-one years of marriage. Usually when I was about to give somebody a piece of my mind. Usually at a church council meeting.
“Dot,” he’d say, putting his hand on my knee under the table. “Let ’em talk. Let ’em show you who they are. Then you’ll know what to do.”
So I let him talk.
And I looked at the wall.
There’s a photograph on the wall by the door in that bank lobby.
Black and white, in a cheap gold frame. The glass is a little dusty. It’s hung a little crooked. It’s been hanging there so long the wallpaper around it is a different color than the rest of the wall.
