Good Fortune in Portland

The night was cold and rainy as I set out for the short journey to the convenience store on the end of the street. I gave my only raincoat to Linda, the woman who worked the register in front of mine at Walmart. Her husband took their only car when he left her and their three-year-old daughter for a twenty-four-year-old he met at a bar the week before. She had to walk the three miles from her house to her job everyday now, and November was the rainiest month in Portland, so I had no choice but to give her my coat. I held my umbrella in front of me like a shield, as if I were going to battle on the dry lands of Troy. The wind was relentless, and that combined with the rain had already soaked the front of my jeans and sweater. God bless the rainboots my boss gifted me for my nineteenth birthday a couple weeks ago. I was beginning to wonder if a Honeybun was worth it tonight just as I saw the fluorescent glow of Al’s Mini Mart shine faintly through the sheer top of my umbrella.