Robert Poposki

My Friend Melinda

The first time I meet Melinda is in line at the supermarket. She’s in front of me, searching for a two-dollar coin in the mound of her emptied purse on the counter. The woman behind the cash register twirls her hair into multiple sighs. The look on her face says Hurry up, geez, just pay with your card or something, you old kook. As if she has something better to do.